


Reasons

by themultifandombi



Category: House of Anubis
Genre: Cigarettes, Death, Depression, Eddie's not doing too hot rn tbh, F/M, Gen, Hospitalization, Insomnia, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Peddie, Sedation, Self-Harm, Self-harm by burning, Spiraling Thoughts, Stigmatization of Mental Health Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Thought Spirals, self-harm by burning with cigarettes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:20:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23549059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themultifandombi/pseuds/themultifandombi
Summary: Everyone has reasons for their actions. George Phillips, a boy from Hathor House, certainly had his reasons for why he committed suicide, just as Eddie Miller had his reasons for trying to do so before moving into Anubis House.** Content Warning: In-Depth Descriptions of Suicide Attempts, and Stigmatization of Mental Health Issues. Read at your own discretion.**
Relationships: Eddie Miller/Patricia Williamson
Comments: 32
Kudos: 36





	1. The Death of George Phillips

**Author's Note:**

> *Waves nervously* 
> 
> Hi everyone! I'm Taylor, the multifandombi-- you may have also met me on tumblr, under the username Bi-Bibop. I have written fics for the HOA fandom before, but it's been a loooong time-- so long that all of my old works are on FanFiction.net only! 
> 
> Anyway, with all of the COVID-19 stuff going on right now, I've been re-watching HOA on Prime Video, and just immersing myself in this lovely fandom once again. I probably should be working on my school work, but as of late, it's been really hard for me to focus on it-- so here I am!
> 
> This piece I've written today is the first portion of a 3 or 4 part miniseries I'm working on (haven't decided how long yet), and is what I have been doing instead of working on my homework. Before you read this, there are a few things I would like to note:
> 
> \- This piece contains very vivid descriptions of two different suicide attempts, as well as various suicidal ideations. If this is something that is triggering or bothersome to you, PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS!!
> 
> \- With that being said, you're probably wondering why TF I've written such a depressing piece, especially during this crazy epidemic we're all enduring. The answer is long. For starters, I'm majoring in Psychology at my University, and am contemplating attending graduate school to become a therapist in the future, so I am deeply interested in understanding mental health issues, which I've found has greatly influenced lots of my writing. Next, I have suffered through some mental health issues of my own, as has my sister, so it is a topic that is emotionally relevant to me, and thus, I like to spread awareness about it through my stories. Relating more to the actual HOA fandom, one of the things that still bothers me about season 2 is how we never got a full, proper backstory for Eddie, and I think that there's a lot of potential in creating one for him, and that the writers really missed out on an awesome opportunity in their failure to do so; so, here is just one of many ideas have regarding my bb's backstory.
> 
> Alright, I think that's it! Please be sure to leave kudos or comments once you have finished reading-- reviews are like crack to me, and the more of them I get, the more likely I am to update again sooner! Happy reading!

It had started out as a normal day— well, as normal as a day could be at Amun Academy. The Anubis residents all sat amongst each other in their final class of the day: Global Politics. 

Everyone was watching the time in some capacity: glancing at the clock on the wall, sneakily checking the digital time on their phones, their wristwatches, etc. Regardless of the device that was being used to measure the time, there were about 5 minutes left until everyone was free for the evening.

Mrs. Locke was rambling on about Parliament when suddenly, Mr. Sweet’s voice projected over the loudspeaker.

“Attention students and staff, may I have your attention please.”

Mrs. Locke pursed her lips, and sat down at her desk. There were various mutterings of confusion among everyone in the classroom, as it was quite unusual for Mr. Sweet to make an announcement so late in the afternoon.

Patricia looked over at Eddie, as if to ask if he knew what this was about. He shook his head.

“Teachers, I do apologize for disrupting your classes, but I’m afraid you already know what this announcement is about. As for the rest of you, I unfortunately have must some dreadful news to share with you.”

The room fell completely silent. The initial looks of confusion that were plastered on everyone’s faces immediately shifted to those of deep concern.

Mr. Sweet paused briefly, before he cleared his throat and continued.

“Students, it is with a heavy heart that I inform you that George Phillips, a junior from Hathor House, passed away this afternoon.”

The room was then filled with shocked gasps, and in Willow’s case, tears. Alfie quickly put his arm around her, and started rubbing her back in soothing circles.

Eddie quickly looked around the room to see if anyone from Hathor House was in this class, but it appeared to only be the Anubis and Mut residents. He glanced over at Patricia, who looked absolutely shocked. Feeling rather surprised himself, Eddie gently laced his fingers through hers, which she gladly accepted.

“Please be assured that we have already informed George’s family, as well as the residents of Hathor House, of his passing, and are working with them directly in providing the proper emotional support needed to help them through this difficult time, as well as aiding them in preparing funerary arrangements,” Mr. Sweet continued, “As you all can probably imagine, this isn’t going to be an easy adjustment for any of us to make, but it will be especially difficult for those who resided in Hathor House with George, so please, be extra kind to them today, and over the next several weeks. Starting tomorrow, we will be offering free counseling and grief management services for anyone who desires it, all of which will serve as valid excuses to miss class if needed. We will not be canceling classes, as we feel that having them to distract both students and staff from this loss will be beneficial for some; however, grading will be extremely relaxed for awhile. This type of tragedy is unprecedented in our school’s history, therefore how the remainder of the term will play out is unknown to all of us. However, I can say that we need to support and be there for each other now more than ever, as these are truly difficult times. Again, I apologize for the interruption, but I wanted to make this announcement before everyone left for the day. We still have about two minutes left of classes, but given the circumstances, you are all dismissed. Thank you.”

Other than Willow’s continued sobs, the room was absolutely silent. Everyone slowly rose from their seats, and started to put their supplies back into their bags. As Mr. Sweet had mentioned, this type of event was unprecedented, therefore no one knew how to respond. As Eddie stood to put his notebooks in his bag, he noticed that everyone just had looks of shock and sorrow on their faces. He sighed heavily, a thousand thoughts racking his brain: What happened? How was everyone at Hathor House doing? He couldn’t even begin to fathom how he would be responding if it had been someone from Anubis; the very thought made him shudder. He slid his bag over his shoulder, and re-laced his fingers through Patricia’s. She squeezed his hand lightly as they walked out of the room.

“Did anyone know him? Personally, I mean?” Jerome whispered as everyone filed out of the classroom.

Everyone shook their heads, except for Willow, who nodded.

“My old roommate from Isis House was really good friends with him, so he was usually around when I lived there,” she murmured sadly, “I hadn’t seen him in a while though.”

Alfie gently rubbed her arm up and down, keeping his opposite arm around her shoulders. She smiled at him sadly, and wiped a few of her tears away.

They all walked back to the house together in silence.

* * *

~ Later that Evening ~

Dinner was much quieter than usual. Trudy made lasagne, one of everyone’s favorites, but no one seemed to be emphatic about gulping it down.

Suddenly, Willow’s phone chimed, breaking the silence. She held it up to her face, and scanned over the screen for a second. Then, as quickly as she had picked it up, she set it back down, and placed her hand over her mouth.

“Sweetheart? What is it?” Alfie asked as he gently scooted closer to her, concern plastered on his face.

Tears rapidly began to roll down Willow’s cheeks as she sighed heavily.

“That…that was my old roommate, Laura,” she started, “She said she found out what happened to George…h-he…he killed himself.” she croaked.Stunned gasps quickly filled the room.

Eddie tensed.

“What? A-are you sure?” Fabian stammered.

Willow nodded. “Yeah…she said their house mother found him.”

“Oh my, that poor woman.” Trudy replied sadly from the kitchen.

“Did she say how he did it?” Mara asked.

Willow nodded slowly. “Yeah, he…h-he hanged himself.”

More shocked sounds of commotion filled the room. 

Eddie’s heart rate soared.

Patricia scoffed. “Seriously? _That’s_ how he died?”

Eddie froze. _What the hell did she mean by that?_

Willow nodded gently as she leaned her head on Alfie’s shoulder, who wrapped his arm around her in response.

Patricia huffed in annoyance. “What an idiot. What kind of self-absorbed coward would do something like that?”

Everyone stared at her with varying looks of anger, surprise, and disdain. Eddie felt like he was going to be sick.

“Patricia! Have some sympathy.” Joy hissed.

Patricia rolled her eyes. “Why? He did this to himself, didn’t he?”

“Well, at least have sympathy for his friends and family then,” Mara replied, “it’s not their fault.”

Eddie remained paralyzed with shock. He had to be imagining this conversation, he just had to be. _There’s no way she actually believes what she’s saying, right?_

“Whatever,” Patricia began, “I’m not going to sit around feeling sorry for him when he chose this for himself.”

Eddie went absolutely numb. Though he was the one with powers, he felt as though she had developed some of her own, in that she had managed to cut off his senses with the sharpness of her words. His mouth had gone dry. He couldn’t feel any part of his body. His jaw had locked itself in place. His palms were dripping with sweat. Had his girlfriend _really_ just said those horrible things? 

“People don’t just randomly kill themselves, Patricia. He probably had some sort of mental illness that led up to this, and we can’t blame him for that.” Mara explained gently.

“Riiiight, because mental problems are _actual_ illnesses,” Patricia replied sarcastically,“someone should have just told him to man up and deal with whatever was bothering him.”

“I mean, she’s not wrong…” Jerome whispered quietly.

Joy smacked his shoulder. “Yes, she is you moron!”

“Finally, someone else who gets it!” Patricia cheered.

Eddie couldn’t take any more of this. Although he was on the brink of a massive panic attack, he calmly got up from the table, amidst everyone’s bickering, and retreated to his room. He grabbed his favorite leather jacket, and immediately returned to the hallway.

They were still arguing on the validity of George’s cause of death; no one had even noticed that he was gone. He peered his head into the kitchen, just to tell Trudy that he was going see his dad for a little bit, and then left.

He managed to make it through the front door before the tears began to stream down his face. He walked as briskly as possible without running, heading toward the woods behind the school. He didn’t stop to think about where he was going, he just needed to get out of the house and be alone. 

He walked hurriedly into the woods, until he felt that he was far enough away from the school and the houses to let himself fall apart without being heard. He sat down on a patch of grass, with his back against an oak tree, and started sobbing.

Patricia’s words replayed in his head like a stuck record, so much so that they had forced him into a severe panic attack. He couldn’t stop trembling, he was crying so hard he was nearly hyperventilating, his throat and his chest felt extremely tight, his stomach was in knots, his palms were drenched in sweat, and he felt so dizzy that he truly believed if he tried to stand up, he would just fall right back down.

He couldn’t help but lightly chuckle to himself amidst his wracked sobs. He had fought _actual demons,_ and helped save the world on _two_ separate accounts without feeling _the slightest bit_ of panic, but a few negative words uttered by his girlfriend were what made him have the worst panic attack he’d experienced in several years.

What hurt the most weren’t the words alone, but the fact that they had been spoken by the person he loved more than anything else in the world, and that the three people who he loved the most after her just sat back and let her spew her hatred. He’d studied their faces carefully, and determined that they didn’t seem too bothered by what she was saying; they probably just didn't want to fight with Mara and Joy, since they seemed to be the only ones appalled by Patricia’s slander.

After just a few minutes, he had himself so worked up that he felt the need to turn to the side, and throw up what little of his dinner he had eaten. 

Once he felt like he had sufficiently emptied his stomach, he stood back up, and moved deeper into the woods, until he was far enough away that he could no longer smell his vomit. He eventually found another patch of grass that looked comfortable enough to sit on, and did just that, leaning back against a pine tree.

He continued to cry, and did his best to steady his breathing, just as his various therapists had taught him to do so many years ago.

_“Breathe in for 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, hold for 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, now breathe out for 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6…”_

After a while, he managed to calm himself to a point where he could sort of think rationally again. He wanted to give Patricia the benefit of the doubt, he really did, but his history with depression and suicide was just too damn extensive for him to easily let it go.

Eddie leaned his head against the tree and sighed as he contemplated what to do next. Should he tell her? What would she think if he did? Would she hate him? Would his past issues be enough to make her fall out of love with him? Would she abandon him, just as so many people had done before?

The more he thought about it, the more tears fell from his eyes. God he hated crying. It always made him feel so weak and vulnerable, and after everything he had been through with Sibuna, a few harsh words from Patricia shouldn’t be making him breakdown like this; but, he couldn’t help it.

He sighed, and thought back to that terrible day nearly three years ago…

* * *

_Eddie stood by his locker at his former high school in America, smiling smugly at the last girl he had dated before Patricia, Gwen._

_Gwen stood before him in her cheerleading uniform, tears streaming down her face._

_“You cheated on me_ again? _” She cried to him._

_Eddie smirked. “What was I supposed to do, babe? She was hot and wanted to fuck, was I supposed to just say no?”_

_“YES!,” Gwen screamed, drawing attention from several bystanders, one of whom was Gabe Johnson, a nerd Eddie and his friends used to frequently tease, “You’re not supposed to sleep around with other people when you’re dating someone!”_

_Eddie scoffed. “Well, you never told me not to.”_

_Gwen stared at him in disbelief. “It was implied you fucking idiot!”_

_Eddie laughed. “Whatever. If you don’t want me fucking anyone but you, then we should probably end this here.”_

_“Yeah, I guess we should,” she muttered, “I hope with everything in me that you burn in the deepest pits of hell, Eddie Miller. I really fucking do.” Gwen spit. She shrugged, and then walked away._

_Eddie chuckled to himself, and walked off in the opposite direction. When he noticed Gabe staring at him, he reached over and pushed him into some lockers, not even stopping to check and see where he landed._

_As soon as Eddie was away from that hallway, he couldn’t but feel an overwhelming sense of dread wash over him. It wasn’t like he actually loved Gwen— he just liked having a cheerleader to fuck in the locker room after his basketball games. Yet, he still felt like he had lost something important, and it didn’t make him feel great._

_He shrugged, and walked down another hallway full of lockers, stopping when he reached a group of his buddies from the basketball team._

_“Hey-o Miller!” Tyler, his best friend at the time, cheered._

_Eddie was welcomed to the group of boys, and joined the clump of varsity jackets leaning up against a set of lockers._

_“Dude, guess what? I found my car!” Tyler exclaimed._

_Eddie laughed, and gave him a high-five.“Bro, where was it?”_

_Tyler pointed to Jeff, the team captain, and both boys started laughing hysterically._

_“It was in the woods behind my house,” Jeff mused, “I found it when I went back there to meet my dealer last night.”_

_Eddie laughed. “What? I don’t even remember being back there last weekend.”_

_Tyler shrugged. “I don’t know man, we were pretty baked Saturday night, God only knows what all we did.”_

_Everyone laughed, and Jeff clasped his hand on Eddie’s shoulder._

_“Damn, my man Miller goes hard!” Jeff cheered,“drinking, smokin’ blunts, speed-balling,_ and _dropping acid? Dude, you’re an animal!”_

_The boys cheered as Eddie took a playful bow._

_“Hey Tyler, check my front pocket.” Eddie said, pointing to the frontmost pocket on his backpack._

_Tyler moved behind Eddie, and unzipped a small portion of his backpack. Inside was a large plastic bag containing more cocaine than Tyler had ever seen in one place in his life._

_Wordlessly, Tyler re-zipped the pocket, and slung his arm around Eddie’s shoulders._

_“Boys, I think we should hit the locker room before next period,” Tyler mused, “Miller’s got enough sugar in his bag for the whole fuckin’ school.”_

_The boys erupted into cheers again, and clapped Eddie’s shoulders and back._

_Jeff slung his arm around Eddie’s neck, and started moving them toward the school locker room._

_“You guys heard my man Tyler, let’s move!” He cheered._

_The rest of the boys followed in suit as they maneuvered toward the school locker rooms designated just for the sports teams._

* * *

_Once the boys were absolutely certain that no one else was in the locker room, and all entrances to it were locked, Eddie pulled the giant bag of cocaine out of his backpack, and set it on one of the benches. Tyler pulled a few paper towels out of the dispenser closest to them, and set them down on the bench. Then, Marcus, one of the other boys, pulled some straws out of another pocket of Eddie’s bag, and passed them around to everyone while Eddie emptied the bag on to the paper towel, and started forming lines for each of them._

_Within minutes, the group of boys were flying higher than kites._

_They were having a great time. They joked, they laughed, they got their basketballs out from their lockers and started bouncing them around, and just reaped havoc throughout the entire room._

_However, they were having so much fun that they weren’t aware of the fact that they could be heard by the Phys. Ed. teacher, Mr. Hunt, who was in the adjoining gymnasium, listening to their antics. He had tried to enter the locker room several times, and knew immediately that since the doors were locked, something bad was happening in there._

_Even though Mr. Hunt had a key to get into the locker room, he figured whatever nonsense the boys had been getting into would most likely result in them being sent to the Principal’s office, so he decided to save some hassle and just go get Mr. Ulrey himself, and bring him to the locker room to see what was happening first hand._

_Meanwhile, Eddie had decided that he wasn’t quite high enough, so he decided to start another line while the rest of the boys threw their balls back and forth against the lockers. It was then, in that moment, as Eddie was snorting his second line, that Mr. Hunt and Mr. Ulrey, burst into the room, catching them all in the act._

_Eddie had been so high that the exact details of what happened next were fuzzy. He vaguely remembered there being lots of yelling, his coke being confiscated, being dragged to the principal’s office with his buddies, sitting and waiting there while his mom and the school’s intervention specialist were called, his mom arriving, the intervention specialist telling them that Eddie needed rehab, and finally, Mr. Ulrey suspending the boys indefinitely._

_It was the last conversation that left Eddie devastated. Sure, he hated the academic aspect of school, but the social part was what he lived for: the pool of girls available to him, all of his friends, and most importantly, the basketball team._

_Basketball had been his favorite thing in the world. He had loved everything about it: the adrenaline rush that came with playing games in front of large crowds, the long, enduring practices that challenged and strengthened his stamina, bonding and forming solid friendships with his teammates, his coaches, showcasing his varsity jacket around the school, everything. And in that moment, the thing that meant the most to him had been ripped from his clutches._

_As he followed his mom out of the school and into her car, he couldn’t help but think of everything he had lost: basketball, his hot girlfriend, his friends, his drugs, and god only knew what else, since he didn’t know how his mom was going to punish him yet._

_They drove home in silence. Eddie had been prepared to be screamed at, so her initial behavior had been extremely surprising to him. Eventually, he spoke up._

_“Aren’t you going to yell at me?” He had asked._

_His mother shrugged, and focused on the road._

_“No, I only yell at you when I’m angry,” she began, “and right now, I’m not angry, just disappointed.”_

_Eddie huffed. “Ah, because being disappointed in me is sooo much better.”_

_They pulled up to a red light, which gave his mom the chance to glare at him. He had instantly taken note of the fact that she, in fact, did not look angry— she looked like she was doing everything in her power to keep herself from bursting into tears. It was then where Eddie truly felt the gravity of the situation he was in: this had devastated his mother, and suddenly, he couldn’t help but feel consumed with guilt._

_The light turned green, and they sped forward again._

_“I’m not going to let you continue down this path,” she whispered, “you’re going to get help, whether you like it or not. You’re going to one of the rehab treatment centers Dr. DiSantis suggested, it just depends on who can get you in the quickest.”_

_“Riiiight, because that’s what this is about,” he spit, “Please, you just want to get rid of me.”_

_“That is not true.”_

_“It is entirely true, you just want to send me away somewhere so you don’t have to deal with me anymore.”_

_He noticed how his mom had tightly gripped the steering wheel, and how he could tell she was doing everything in her power to keep herself from reaching over and smacking him._

_“I don’t want to get rid of you,” she said calmly, “but you need help—”_

_“I DON’T NEED FUCKING HELP!” He’d screamed, cutting her off, “I’M A GODDAMNED TEENAGER, I JUST LIKE TO HAVE FUCKING FUN, JESUS!”_

_They drove the rest of the way home in silence. After what felt like an eternity to both of them, they reached their house, and pulled in the driveway. His mom pulled the keys out of the ignition, and faced him._

_“Get out, and go to your room,” she hissed, “I have some phone calls to make. We’ll continue this later.”_

_Eddie huffed, and angrily got out of the car. He slammed the passenger door shut, and stormed inside. He hurriedly climbed the stairs leading to his bedroom, opened his door, and then slammed it shut behind him._

_He sat in the middle of his bed, and grabbed one of his pillows. He held it up to his face, and screamed into it._

_He had never felt more angry in his entire life; however, he had also never felt more depressed. In the span of a few hours, he had lost everything: his girlfriend, his best friends, basketball, his drugs, and his mom’s faith in him._

_For the first time in his life, he truly regretted his actions. He regretted that he had put himself in this situation, and wished more than anything that he could turn back the clock and make things right._

_But he knew that he couldn’t do that; he could only keep moving forward, and moving forward meant merely existing as a shell of his old self._

_Within moments, his muffled screams turned into desperate sobs. He hated this. He hated what he had done, what was going to happen next— he hated himself._

_He felt trapped— trapped in this messy situation he had gotten himself and those around him into._

_As he slowly started to realize what his best next move was, he stopped crying, and let his breathing even out. He gently laid his pillow down in front of him, and wiped the remaining tears from his eyes._

_He sat in bed, contemplating if he should go through with his idea. If it worked, he was sure that his mom would be pissed at him, but it wasn’t like she wasn’t already. Gwen certainly wouldn’t miss him; as a matter of fact, she’d probably be happy about this, as would his buddies, who he had gotten in so much trouble today. The basketball team was already going to proceed without him, so they probably wouldn’t be devastated by this. He couldn’t remember the last time he had talked to his Dad, or any of his other extended relatives, so he knew this wouldn’t really have an impact on them, either._

_He shrugged, and took a deep breath. This was his best option: he had nothing to live for anymore, so what was the point of holding on for any longer?_

_He rose from his bed, and went over to his closet. He changed from his jeans and henley to a pair of sweatpants and his favorite basketball t-shirt. He left his discarded clothes in a ball on the floor next to his dresser— it wasn’t like he was going to have to listen to his mom bitch at him for leaving a mess behind._

_He then turned toward his desk, and sat down in the office chair before it. He reached into one of the drawers beside it, and fished out the yard of rope he had kept in there from when he and his buddies went dressed as cowboys for halloween several years ago. He set the rope down on his desk, and shut the drawer._

_He stared at the rope intently: was he really going to do this? Was he really going to use this rope, which he had originally used as a prop for a halloween costume, as a weapon to end his own life?_

_As quickly as his doubts had crept into his brain, the memories of the day’s earlier events replaced them, and he knew what had to be done._

_He stood up from his desk, the rope in one hand, and the chair in the other. He dragged his chair across the room, and into his walk-in closet. He hastily removed his heavy winter coats from the giant metal hook they rested on, and threw them on the floor._

_Sighing, he took the rope, and fastened a sturdy noose out of it._

_“_ Fingers crossed this works” _, he’d thought._

_After taking one final glance at his room, he gently placed the noose around his neck, and climbed up on to the chair. He fastened the other end to the hook, and without any second thoughts, he kicked the chair away from him, and eagerly watched as the world before him became fuzzier and fuzzier, until he faded into complete darkness._

* * *

Tears rolled down Eddie’s cheeks as he thought about his _first_ suicide attempt. He remembered how comforting the darkness had felt, and then how angry he had been when he woke up in a hospital bed, only to learn that his attempt had failed, and his mom had managed to find him just in the nick of time. 

He thought back to the first time he met with a therapist, who had come into his hospital room to talk about why he’d tried to kill himself. He remembered shouting at her, and telling her that nothing was wrong with him, and that he didn’t need any help, he just needed everything to go back to the way it had been before. He remembered eventually realizing that he _did_ need help, and lots of it. He then thought of how his mom had held him as the Psychiatrist in charge of his case told them about the in-patient rehab and counseling program the hospital offered, and how he thought Eddie would benefit greatly from it. Eddie and his mom had looked at each other in mutual agreement, and as soon as the 72 hour suicide watch Eddie had been placed under was over, he was enrolled in the 3 month program.

Initially, it had helped. Eddie learned numerous techniques to help him through his newly diagnosed clinical depression, as well as how to combat his various drug addictions. When the program was over, Eddie felt a sense of hope he had never thought he would ever be capable of feeling; unfortunately, that hope was very short-lived, and dissipated completely as soon as he returned to school.

He had fallen from the top of the school’s social hierarchy to the very, _very_ bottom. His friends still blamed him for getting busted with the cocaine several months prior, since it was he who had brought it to school; they told him upfront that they wanted nothing to do with him. The nerds who he used to bully were unaccepting of his apologies, and essentially told him they were glad he had suffered. Gwen had even gone as far as to tell him that she was bummed when she learned that his suicide attempt hadn’t worked, as she had sincerely hoped he would have gone to burn in hell. Worst of all, he wasn’t allowed back on the basketball team; once again, Eddie had nothing.

After continuing to meet with an out-patient therapist once a week, and discussing his feelings of depression and loneliness with his mom, Eddie eventually reached a point where he believed that things were never going to get better, and that he would always be a low-life piece-of-nothing that didn’t have anything to live for, other than his mom. The night he snapped, he stayed up all night, writing a note to his mom explaining his pain, and why he truly, wholeheartedly, felt that he would be better off dead. He’d told her not to feel guilty, and that his decision to end his life hadn’t been her fault, but that his only chance at achieving peace would come from no longer living. 

Eddie shuddered as he remembered his second suicide attempt.

_The next day, he left the note on his desk, and went to school as planned. However, as soon as the bus dropped him off, he immediately left the school grounds, and went into the woods behind the school’s outdoor sports complex_. 

_He walked deep into the woods, until he found the cliffs. The cliffs were a popular place for the kids from his high school to hang out after classes ended, and on the weekends._

_As far as Eddie knew, no one had gone to the cliffs with the intention of dying there; however, he was going to change that._

_He hiked to the tallest of the cliffs, and walked toward the very edge. He peered down, and felt his stomach drop: it was a looooong drop…_

_Similarly to his first attempt, as soon as he thought about_ why _he was doing this, he felt better about it. Sighing, he closed his eyes, took what he hoped would be his last breath, and then leapt over the edge._

Just as he had the first time, he had felt extremely angry when he woke up in a hospital bed. His mom had been sitting beside him, clutching on to his hand, sobbing and repeatedly telling him how much she loved him. 

Just as before, a therapist came in, talked to him about what happened, followed by a psychiatrist, who suggested multiple treatment options, all whilst Eddie laid in his mother’s arms, with a guard standing near the bed, ensuring Eddie didn’t try to do anything rash during his 72 hour suicide watch. The biggest difference between the first attempt and the second was when the doctor listed the various treatments, Eddie had felt hopeful that things would improve, and that he would get his life back on track; however, this time, he had felt so mind-numbingly depressed that he didn’t think things would ever get better for him, so he ultimately let his mom decide whatever treatment she thought was best.

He had been admitted into a 2 month treatment program at the hospital for adolescents with severe clinical depression. While he didn’t get nearly as much out of that program as he did the first one, it did help him get to a point to where he felt that he could at least stick around for his mom, as well as reestablished his hope that maybe one day, perhaps after he finished school, his life would improve, and he would no longer experience any urges to kill himself.

He’d never forget the day he returned home from the program. His mom had smothered him with hugs and kisses, telling him how much she loved him, and how she knew things would get better. She’d ordered pizza from his favorite restaurant, and the two ate it together as they snuggled under multiple fuzzy blankets on the couch in their living room.

It was then, after they finished their pizza, where the news that changed his life forever was broken to him.

_“So, Dr. Edwards and I talked for a while yesterday,” she started, “and we were discussing the best way to integrate you back into school, without you feeling so alone like last time.”_

_Eddie scoffed. “Yeah, like that will happen.”_

_She sighed sadly, and pulled him closer to her. “That’s the conclusion Dr. Edwards and I came to as well,” she murmured, taking a brief moment to pause before she continued, “But then he suggested that maybe we move you to a new school, where you can have a fresh start.”_

_Eddie stared at her in confusion. “Okay…so where would I go? To Hastings? That’s like, 20 minutes from here.”_

_His mother sighed, and took his hands into hers._

_“It’s entirely up to you,” she started, “but…while you were gone, I decided to call your Dad, and let him know what’s been going on…”_

_Eddie knew where this was going before she could finish. He could feel his blood pressure rising._ She better not fucking say it _, he thought._

_“…And honey, he was so, so,_ so _upset when I told him everything,” she continued, “so much so that he wanted to know if there was anything he could do to help, and so he actually listened in with Dr. Edwards and I yesterday, and we thought that maybe it’d be a good idea—”_

_“To send me away to England so you don’t have to deal with my crazy ass anymore,” Eddie interrupted, “yeah, that’s not going to happen.”_

_“Honey…”_

_“No, don’t ‘honey’ me!,” Eddie screamed, standing up from the couch, and heading toward the stairs leading to his bedroom, “I get back for two goddamn seconds and you want to send me away again, and to be with fucking Eric, of all people!”_

_“Eddie, it’s your choice honey, it’s just an idea—” She tried, as she followed him up the stairs._

_“No, it’s not just an idea!” He screamed as he stormed toward his room, “You and Eric have it all figured out: you send me there, so you don’t have to deal with me anymore, and so you don’t have to feel bad because I’m with my Dad, and then he won’t have to deal with me either because he’ll just have some strict, British houseparents take care of me, and that way he can feel okay too since he’ll know someone else is watching me!”_

_Eddie stormed into his room, and tried to slam the door shut on her. He had made himself so angry so fast, he was thinking about going into his bathroom, and taking all of his antidepressants, just so he could get out of this situation; but, his mom had managed to force her way in, and force him to sit with her on his bed._

_Eventually, after yelling many more obscenities at her, he calmed down, and let her explain herself._

_“We just thought that maybe you would like a fresh start, somewhere far away, where no one knows you or your history, and maybe, I don’t know, get to a point where you like being alive again.”_

_Eddie shrugged. “I want that too, believe me, I do, it’s just that…I don’t want to be there with_ him _,” Eddie explained, “he hasn’t been here for me through all of this like you have…he fucking left us, mom, and I’ll never forgive him for that. To be quite honest, I hate him.”_

_His mom nodded in understanding, and pushed some of his hair out of his teary eyes._

_“I know you do, baby. I don’t expect that to change, and I don’t think he does either,” she whispered, “but he said that if we did decide to do this, you’d be in one of the houses with a loving house mother to look out for you, and you’d be surrounded by kids your age all the time, which personally, I think could be really beneficial. But like I said, it’s up to you.”_

_Eddie had stayed up all night thinking about it. The way he saw it, he had two options: stay in America, go back to his old school, or the next nearest one, where people would know him and make fun of him, and he would be completely isolated and alone again, with the exception of coming home every night to his mom. Or, he could go to England with fucking Eric, get a fresh start, rebuild the reputation he’d once had, dominate his Dad’s school, and be happy again. As much as he didn’t want to leave his mom, he knew what his best option was._

_They skyped his Dad the next day, and planned everything out. Eddie had requested that no one know about their relationship to avoid being harassed, and that he be placed in a house where the people didn’t suck too bad. His Dad said okay._

_He left exactly two weeks later._

* * *

Eddie smiled slightly as he wiped the tears from his eyes. Up until tonight, he had truly loved his life, and everything in it: he’d found the woman who he _thought_ was the love of his life, rekindled his relationship with his Dad to the point where he felt as close to him as he did his mom, found three of the best friends he could have ever asked for, and of course, found his true self through his Osirian identity; and, as a result, he had finally managed to put his painful past behind him, but because of _a few fucking words from Patricia,_ he felt as though his world had been shattered once again.

He truly loved her more than anything else. She’d been the first friend he’d made since he arrived at the school— since he’d lost all of his old friends that day in the locker room— and now she was the most important person in his life. She didn’t know it, but she’d inadvertently saved him. When he was at his most vulnerable, and felt the most alone, she’d been the first one to pick him back up, and show him that life was worth living. He hadn’t had a single suicidal thought since the moment they shared their first kiss— even after they briefly broke up— and now, the fact that she was so disgusted by such a deep, emotional, part of him was far more devastating than any fight or breakup they had endured.

He had sworn to himself as soon as he started forming meaningful relationships with these people that he would _never_ let them find out about his past, and the horrible person he once was; and, most importantly, he promised himself that he would _never_ allow himself to feel as depressed and lonely here as he had back in America. Now, he was sitting in the middle of the woods, crying against a tree, feeling just as isolated and alone as he did then.

Maybe he could talk to KT? They already told each other pretty much everything; but, KT was the happiest, most bubbly person Eddie knew— how would she handle him telling her about his super dark and twisted past?

Fabian would probably be as equally understanding, but given how uncomfortable he’d looked when Willow first mentioned that George’s cause of death was suicide, he figured his roommate probably wouldn’t be the best person to talk to either. 

His friendship with Alfie was based entirely too much on memes, pranks, and food for Eddie to feel comfortable enough to sit down and have an emotional conversation with him, so he was out.

He didn’t know what to do. Joy and Mara had been the only ones to seem truly appalled by Patricia’s comments, and Eddie wasn’t close enough to either of them to feel comfortable talking with them about this; besides, it would probably just encourage them to fight with Patricia some more.

He eventually determined that he couldn’t tell anyone anything, because he simply couldn’t risk losing the most important people in the world to him. Plus, he was the fricking Osirian, he could handle anything! Suppressing his feelings of depression and loneliness should be a walk in the park compared to recent events.

Feeling slightly reassured, he glanced down at his watch.

_9:38,_ it read.

“Fuck,” Eddie muttered under his breath. He hadn’t meant to stay out here for that long— he was going to have to hurry to make it back by 10:00. He stood up, and brushed the dirt off of his jeans— hopefully no one would notice how dirty they were, and not ask any questions about where he had been.

Eddie shrugged, and started walking back to Anubis, completely alone, and unsure of whether his plan would succeed or not.


	2. Thoughts of Worry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2: Thoughts of Worry, a chapter in which everyone worries about Eddie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I wholeheartedly apologize for how long it’s taken me to complete this next installment— between the online summer classes I’ve been taking, doing everything in my power to contribute to the Black Lives Matter movement from home (I’m still considered “at risk” for COVID, so I haven’t been to any protests, but I 1000% support those who have, because black lives fucking matter!!), and being a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to writing (I’m not exaggerating when I say I’ve probably revised this roughly 8,000 word chapter 10 or more times), my plate has been pretty full; but, I am back once again! I have to say that a large part of that is because of your kudos and comments on the first chapter; they truly pushed me to crank this out as quickly as possible, and had it not been for them, I would probably still be working on this, so please be sure to share your thoughts with me on this next chapter as well! I may not always respond to you guys right away (no one in my family knows I’m a fanfic writer, so the time spent logged in on my personal AO3 account is very limited), but trust me, I always find a way to read them! Okay, one last thing before I shut up and let you guys read this:  
> There are a few content warnings that are extremely prevalent in this chapter:  
> \- Suicidal ideations & thoughts  
> \- Descriptions of multiple, severe, panic attacks that include fixating on negative thoughts / “spiraling thoughts.”  
> \- Self-Harm by burning (specifically with cigarettes)  
> -Brief drug (cigarette) usage  
> \- Brief mentioning of stigmatization of mental health issues  
> If ANY of these warnings are triggering to you, PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS CHAPTER!! I won’t be offended— your mental health is waaaaaayyyy more important than reading this story, so please, please, please be advised of these warnings!  
> And now, without further ado, I hope you guys enjoy reading this next installment of Reasons! Again, please leave your kudos and comments after you’ve finished! Enjoy! :)

* * *

~ After Dinner ~

* * *

Following the explosive argument at supper about the validity of death by suicide, Fabian trudged into his and Eddie’s shared bedroom, feeling multiple emotions: sadness, because George, a boy who he had vaguely known, had been depressed enough to end his own life, anger, because of how harshly Patricia and Jerome had spoken of his death, and worried, because Eddie had abruptly left during the middle of the debate, and looked extremely upset when he did.

He flopped down on his bed, and pulled his iPhone out from his jean pocket to quickly text Eddie.

_Hey, is everything okay?_

As soon as he hit _send_ , KT barged into the room, looking furious.

“I cannot _believe_ the two of them had the nerve to say such horrible things,” she boomed as she sat down beside Fabian, “I know they’re not the _warmest_ of people, but that was _way_ out of line, even for them.”

Fabian nodded in agreement. “Right? I was so taken aback by them I didn’t even know how to respond.”

KT shrugged. “Did you happen to notice that Eddie left during the thick of it?”

“I did,” Fabian replied, “I actually just sent him a text asking if everything was okay.”

KT nodded approvingly. “Good. I almost went after him, but I didn’t want to draw attention to it. I figured we could talk to him when he gets back.” 

Fabian was about to respond when suddenly, Alfie entered the room, appearing depressed and shaken.

“Alfie?” KT inquired curiously.

Alfie joined them on the bed and sighed.

“I just walked Willow over to Isis House so she could visit her old roommate, Laura, and they were both so, _so_ upset,” he murmured sadly, “when we got there, I asked Laura how she was holding up, and all she said was that she _just wished_ she could have made George realize how much he was loved; so, listen to me: I love you guys. Don’t _ever_ do something like this to me,” he croaked.

KT and Fabian were quick to wrap their arms around him as tightly as possible. He hugged them back in equal fervor as a few tears spilled from his eyes. 

“I love you too buddy,” Fabian murmured as he lightly rubbed Alfie’s back, “I love you both _so_ much.”

“I love you guys too,” KT added, “after everything we’ve dealt with, there is absolutely _nothing_ we can’t work through together. That’s why this will _never_ happen to any of us.”

Both boys nodded in agreement as they continued their group hug. After a few moments of comfortable silence, they broke apart, and sat in a small circle on Fabian’s bed.

“I just…I can’t _believe_ the two of them,” Alfie started, “I’m so angry I don’t think I can even look at either of them.”

“Well, you can sleep in here tonight, if you’d like to avoid Jerome,” Fabian offered, “I don’t mind, and I don’t think Eddie will either.”

“I may have to take you up on that,” Alfie replied, “where is Eddie, anyway?”

Fabian shrugged. “He left during supper. He seemed _really_ upset by everything that was being said,” he explained as he glanced at his phone, “Trudy said he went to go see Mr. Sweet, but…I don’t know, he just seemed extremely offended by Patricia and Jerome, and he hasn’t responded to my text asking if he’s okay.” 

“Shit, I was so focused on getting Willow to stop crying that I didn’t even notice,” Alfie replied worriedly.

Fabian shrugged. “I mean, I don’t think he’s in imminent danger, but I still can’t help feeling worried about him.”

“I’m sure your right, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for anyone to be wandering off on their own after everything that’s happened today,” Alfie responded anxiously.

KT sighed. “I agree, but we also have to remember that this is Eddie we’re talking about,” she added, “if he isn’t actually with Mr. Sweet, then he probably just went for a walk to clear his head or something. He’s our badass Osirian leader, guys— I highly doubt he’s off doing something like…you know…”

“Like what George did,” Alfie finished, a hint of fear present in his voice.

KT nodded sadly. “Yeah, like what George did,” she whispered softly.

The three friends sat in another comfortable silence for a few moments as they collected their thoughts, and contemplated Eddie’s whereabouts. It was KT who eventually spoke again.

“This whole thing is just so depressing,” she murmured.

“I know,” Fabian replied, “maybe we should watch a movie or something to take our minds off of it, and while we wait for Eddie to come back,” he suggested, “I could use a pick-me-up right now.”

“Ooooh great idea, let’s watch _Horrible Bosses_!” Alfie exclaimed, “that movie always makes me laugh.”

“ _Horrible Bosses_?” Fabian inquired.

“It’s hilarious,” KT told him, “a bit crude, but very funny.”

Fabian smiled sheepishly. “Well, I could definitely go for a laugh right now, so that sounds good to me.”

“Yay! I’ll go make popcorn!” Alfie cheered as he jumped up from Fabian’s bed.

“Alfie we _just_ ate dinner,” KT called after him as he ran out of the room.

“You can never watch a movie without popcorn!” he yelled back from the hallway.

Fabian and KT both chuckled at his antics, and then set the movie up on Fabian’s laptop.

* * *

~ Later ~

* * *

Eddie trudged back to Anubis as slowly as possible, but fast enough to still arrive by 10:00. He was absolutely _not_ enjoying how depressed the idea of going back to his favorite place filled with his favorite people made him feel. Only a few hours ago, the House had been his safe haven; now, returning made him feel more isolated and alone than he’d felt on Founder’s Day.

_At least then I had KT to talk to_ , Eddie thought to himself as he walked closer to the House.

He crossed the threshold of the front door at 9:59 PM. Victor was standing in the hallway, watching as everyone scurried into their respective bedrooms. Without saying anything to anyone, Eddie hustled into his own room. When he entered it, he was surprised to see several things: first, the massive pillow fort that had been built in the middle of the room, then, Fabian and Alfie laying under the fort, watching something on Fabian’s laptop, and finally, how genuinely relived they both appeared to be upon seeing him.

“Eddie, thank god! Where have you been?” Fabian asked, concern present in his voice.

“Yeah dude, we’ve been worried sick,” Alfie added in an equally worrisome tone.

Eddie didn’t know how to respond. He was truly shocked by how concerned they were for him, because their failure to say _anything_ during dinner had led him to believe that they didn’t care about what Patricia and Jerome were saying, and as a result, where he had gone and why. While it was extremely uplifting to know that two of his closest friends did indeed care for him, he still couldn’t shake the idea that, based on their lack of reaction and emotion earlier, if he told them the truth, they would abandon him, just as all of his friends did back in America; so, he decided to act like absolutely _nothing_ was wrong.

Eddie stared at them in feigned confusion as he took a few steps closer toward them.

“Oh, uh, didn’t Trudy tell you,” he started, “I went to see my Dad for a bit. Today was kind of a rough day for him, so he wanted to spend some time with me.”

Fabian and Alfie glanced at each other skeptically, undoubtedly debating whether or not they should believe him.

“We just talked and watched TV for a bit while he unwound from being at Hathor House all day,” Eddie continued, “anyway, what’s with the pillow fort?” he asked in attempt to change the subject.

Alfie and Fabian both glanced at theirs and KT’s creation, having built it so many hours ago that the newness of it had already worn off.

“Oh, um, we built it earlier with KT,” Fabian explained, still not entirely believing Eddie’s story.

“We texted you to see where you were while we made it,” Alfie continued, “but we never heard back from you.”

“Oh, uh, sorry,” Eddie replied, “I wasn’t really looking at my phone while I was with my Dad,” he lied.

“It’s okay, we’re just glad you’re back safe,” Fabian told him, “when you didn’t respond we were a little worried, that’s all.”

“Yeah, considering the last time that happened you’d been kidnapped and locked in the crypt,” Alfie added.

Fabian smacked his shoulder, while Eddie just laughed lightly.

“No, that’s fair,” he replied, walking toward his bed, “I’m sorry, I should have responded. But really, I’m fine,” he lied again.

He wanted to tell them the truth, he really did, but he just couldn’t ignore the little voice in his head telling him that if he did, they’d sever all ties with him, and then everything would be the same as it was in America; Eddie _refused_ to experience that life again.

“Well good,” Alfie replied, seeming to have _finally_ bought the story, “do you want to sleep in here with us? It’s actually really cozy,” he asked from the mountain of blankets he had buried himself in.

“It is surprisingly comfortable in here,” Fabian added.

Eddie smiled at them. The fort _did_ look relatively cozy, and he also liked the idea of having a sleepover with two of his best friends. _Maybe this will take my mind off of everything_ , he thought to himself.

“Of course,” he answered after a moment, ”let me change, and then I’ll come in.”

Fabian shut the blanket that served as the fort’s door to give Eddie some privacy, whilst he and Alfie made room for him inside. After a few moments, Eddie had changed into his pajamas, turned the lights out, entered the fort, and made a bed for himself inside of it.

“Yay this is so fun!” Alfie cheered once he was settled in.

Eddie smiled as he looked at the two of them from his makeshift bed. While his actual bed was much more comfortable, he would sleep on this spot of the floor tonight, because simply being near two of his closest friends had already tamed his racing thoughts. That being said, he sincerely hoped that they wouldn’t ask any more questions about where he had been all evening, because he knew that he would break down if they asked him anything too pressing.

Fortunately, they didn’t. They watched a few episodes of The Office (the American version, because all three of them agreed that it was better than the British version), as well as joked and laughed with each other. Although they didn’t know it, Fabian and Alfie had done an _amazing_ job with helping Eddie relax, for which he was truly grateful; however, his anxiety quickly returned as soon as they fell asleep, whilst he remained awake.

He stared up at the ceiling of blankets as his previous worries flooded back into his mind. He may have been able to hide his secret from the boys, but he knew he was going to have to tell Patricia at some point. He would try his best to lie to her, but they had gotten really good at seeing through each other’s bullshit, so he knew that he would have to explain himself eventually.

The thought of revealing his past to her made him feel sick to his stomach. He genuinely believed that because of how she acted at dinner, she wouldn’t be even _remotely_ sympathetic about his history with mental illness, which would definitely result in the termination of their relationship.

Silent tears rolled down his cheeks as he thought about their inevitable breakup. He would give anything, absolutely _anything_ , for her to change her degrading views on mental health issues. He loved her so, so, _so_ much, and the thought of no longer being with her, especially for this reason, was truly nauseating. He also had to assume that, despite their concern for him earlier, the others would side with her too, making him friendless once again.

He thought of nothing else the entire night, as sleep continued to evade him. For every minute that passed, his fixation on his thoughts intensified, as did his anxiety levels; by three o’clock, he had worked himself into another, full blown panic attack that was almost as severe as the one he’d experienced earlier in the woods.

He’d been crying for long enough that his tears had completely saturated his pillow; however, he had managed to weep silently, because the thought of Alfie or Fabian waking up and seeing the state he was in drastically increased his anxiety. He felt truly awful: his chest felt so tight that he could only produce short, ragged breaths, his heart was beating rapidly enough to make the loud, pulsating sound of it hurt his ears, he was sweating so profusely that he appeared as though he’d just stepped out of the shower, he felt so lightheaded and dizzy that he believed if he tried to sit up, he’d fall right back down, he was plagued with so much nervous energy that he couldn’t resist the urge to repeatedly tap his fingers on the floor beside him, as well as lightly bounce his legs against the ground; and, worst of all, his worries continued to replay through his mind like a permanently stuck record; he couldn’t stop focusing on them no matter how diligently he tried.

_She’s going to hate me, they’re going to hate me, she’s going to hate me, they’re going to hate me, she’s going to hate me, they’re going to hate me, she’s going to hate me…_

His thoughts had simply spiraled out of his control; they were inescapable, and entirely consuming; he literally could not think of anything else. Despite this, another, more disturbing, thought had also managed to creep into his mind— one that he had not entertained since he had moved to England: he wanted to die.

_She’s going to hate me, they’re going to hate me, I want to die, she’s going to hate me, they’re going to hate me, I want to die, she’s going to hate me, they’re going to hate me, I want to die, she’s going to hate me, they’re going to hate me, I want to die…_

* * *

~ The Next Day ~

* * *

Eddie didn’t sleep the entire night— even after enduring _another_ massive panic attack.

At 6:30, he officially gave up on trying to fall asleep, and quietly exited the pillow fort. Moving as silently as possible in order to avoid waking Fabian or Alfie, he changed into his uniform, and put the school supplies he would need for the day in his book bag.

As he was packing his satchel, he realized he was going to need his pre-calculus work book, which he hadn’t seen in several days. Shrugging, he quietly dug through the drawers of his desk in search of it. When he didn’t find it there, he then decided to dig through his clothing drawers, which resulted in him finding something that he had completely forgotten about: one, unopened package of Marlboro cigarettes.

Glancing over at the boys to ensure they were still asleep, Eddie carefully picked up the box from the wad of t-shirts it had been buried in, and stared at it intently.

He had brought them with him when he had first moved into the House, just in case he became anxious enough to need them. Cigarettes were the one drug that his mother had been relatively lenient with him having, for when he was in the process of permanently quitting cocaine, heroine, marijuana, and alcohol, she would occasionally allow him to have a cigarette in attempt to prevent him from relapsing with one of the harder substances. Eventually, he quit smoking cigarettes, too; however, when he was packing his bags for his move to the other side of the world, he _still_ wanted to bring a pack with him, just in case things became unbearable again, and his mom wasn’t there to help him through it.

He turned the box over in his hands anxiously. Was he _seriously_ contemplating smoking again because of what Patricia had said, when he hadn’t needed them whilst he was fighting an _actual_ demon from the underworld?

Unfortunately, he was; and, he felt truly pathetic for it.

Double checking to ensure that Fabian and Alfie were still asleep, he dropped the box in his bag, and then left the room.

Next, he crept into the kitchen, feeling extremely relieved when he noticed that Trudy hadn’t started preparing breakfast yet. After cautiously looking around to make sure she or anyone else wasn’t nearby, he tiptoed into the room, and went to the drawer where she kept the lighters. He hastily opened the drawer, snatched the lime-green Bic lighter from the miniature, ivory, twine basket it was kept in, and then dropped it into his bag. Once he felt reassured that that no one else was awake, he tiptoed out of the kitchen, and then, out the front door of the House.

* * *

Eddie walked briskly into the woods, to the same spot where he had broken down several hours before. He plopped down on the same patch of grass, and then pulled the lighter and cigarettes out of his book bag.

_Am I really going to do this_ , he thought to himself, _am I really going to throw away over two years of sobriety because of a few snide remarks from Patricia?_

Although he knew deep down that he shouldn’t be doing this, he unwrapped the plastic surrounding the rectangular cardboard box, and then opened its lid. He proceeded to pull a single cigarette out from the carton, and held it up to the lighter. Pressing down on the button, he lit the cigarette, and then, without a second thought, took his first hit of nicotine in over two years.

Initially, he felt the familiar relaxing effects that smoking had always brought him; however, after he had smoked the cigarette in its entirety, he felt an overwhelming sense of guilt wash over him for what he had just done. Within seconds, he had gone from feeling truly at ease to being absolutely _disgusted_ with himself.

_God I’m so fucking pathetic_ , he told himself, _I’m such a worthless, weak, disgusting piece of shit. I’m the fucking Osirian and I can’t even handle basic anxiety without reaching for drugs!_

Before he realized it, he was crying again. Just as he had done the previous night, he leaned his head back against the tree, and sobbed as he continued to think about how much he despised himself.

_It’s no wonder Patricia makes fun of people with mental illnesses_ , he thought, _it’s because we’re so goddamn weak! I’m crying in the woods because I’m so fucking fucked up! I was stupid to think that I had ever gotten better! What the hell was I thinking?!_

He needed another way to cope. Considering that he was truly abhorred by himself for smoking, he knew that indulging in another cigarette wouldn’t make him feel better, nor would continuing to sit there and cry.

When he realized that there, as a matter of fact, _was_ something else he could do to eliminate his unwanted thoughts, he felt a dizzying sense of relief. It was something he hadn’t done since he was struggling after his release from rehab, but it had always helped him back then, so there was no reason it couldn’t help him now.

With somewhat shaky hands, he scooped up the box of cigarettes, fished out another one, and lit it; however, he did not smoke it. Instead, he hurriedly rolled up his sleeves, and without further consideration, firmly pressed the ash end to his left wrist.

The pain was so intense he screamed; not loud enough for anyone to hear him, but enough to surprise himself. He pulled the cigarette away from his arm, and gazed intently at the small, circular burn he had just imprinted into his flesh. While the pain was profoundly agonizing, he couldn’t help but feel significantly better, for the injury had done exactly what he had intended it to do: make his head shut the hell up. So, he did it again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again _._

And again.

And again.

_And again._

After a few minutes, both of his arms were littered with cigarette-induced welts of various shapes and sizes. The pain was absolutely horrendous, but it was certainly worthwhile.

He leaned his head back against the tree, and breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Although he subliminally knew that what he had done was wrong, he felt so free from the torturous prison that was his own mind that he didn’t care; for the first time since dinner, he had _finally_ regained a semblance of self-control, and that alone was worth the excruciating pain he’d inflicted upon himself. As a result, he had managed to achieve such a harmonious mental state that he now believed he could _finally_ fall asleep. Slouching slightly against the tree, he gently shut his eyes, and then eagerly permitted sleep to consume him; however, his slumber was short-lived, as a few minutes later, his phone started to blare his ringtone at him. When he reopened his eyes and unlocked his screen, he was met with numerous text messages:

Fabian: _Hey buddy, you left awfully early this morning— is everything okay?_

Alfie: _Dude where are you, you’re missing breakfast and Trudy made chocolate chip pancakes!!_

KT: _Hey, haven’t seen you since yesterday— where’d you go? Everything okay?_

Fabian: _Eddie?_

Alfie: _Eddie? You there man?_

KT: _Eddie, where are you? Are you okay?_

Fabian: _Eddie, you’re starting to worry me. Where did you go? No one has seen you this morning…_

KT: _Eddie you’re really freaking me out— where are you? Please text me back!_

Alfie: _Okay normally I’d joke about how maybe the aliens got to you but you’re starting to worry me— seriously dude, what’s up?_

KT: _Eddie. Where. Are. You?!_

Yacker: _Hey weasel, where’d you run off to this morning? I haven’t seen you since last night at dinner, and you didn’t say goodnight to me… is everything okay? I love you <3_

Eddie tensed so frigidly that his phone slipped from his grasp, resulting in a minor crack to its screen. He wasn’t worried about the frantic texts from his friends; but, he was absolutely _terrified_ of the text from Patricia, because it meant that his worst fear had come true: she was on to him. That also meant, of course, that he was going to have to tell her the truth, which would result in her dumping him. It was inevitable: she had noticed that he was avoiding her, and once she learned why, he would lose her forever.

His anxiety picked right back up from where it had left off: his mind was reeling with thoughts about how badly he didn’t want to lose the love of his life, he felt dizzy to the point that the woods were spinning before him, his palms were drenched with sweat, his heart rate had skyrocketed, his chest felt so tight it was as though a rubber band had been securely wrapped around his lungs, and he couldn’t stop trembling. While he was primarily fixated on losing Patricia, he also felt the added anxiety of knowing he’d upset his best friends, and that he’d probably have to tell them the truth too, which would surely result in them wanting nothing to do with him, either.

He couldn’t go on like this— he needed a way out from the pain, the anxiety, his own mind…

He knew what he wanted to do; but, at the same time, the little voice in the back of his head told him not to.

Maybe it was a long-distance message from the House, telling him to man up, and that Osirians don’t kill themselves? Maybe it was the fact that deep down, he knew that there were people who cared about him, and that taking his life would deeply hurt them? He wasn’t sure why, but he did know that as appealing as suicide sounded, he couldn’t follow through with it; for the first time since his slew of mental health issues began, he believed that at least _trying_ to get help would be better than ending his life.

Slowly, he rose from his spot of grass, and brushed the dirt off his pants. He bent back down to pick up the cart containing the few remaining cigarettes, and then dropped it in his bag, as to avoid littering. He still felt horribly anxious; but, he knew that if he didn’t get going soon, his friends would start looking for him, if they hadn’t already. Taking a shallow breath, and wiping a few tears from his eyes, Eddie made his way toward the school.

* * *

Patricia, KT, Fabian, and Alfie stood in the foyer of the House, all of them growing extremely concerned about Eddie.

“Something’s wrong, I can feel it,” Patricia said nervously as she sent several more texts to Eddie, inquiring of his whereabouts.

KT scoffed. “Yeah, no duh. Maybe the fact that we haven’t seen him since your lovely commentary at dinner last night has something to do with it,” she hissed.

Patricia scoffed in annoyance. “As if that has _anything_ to do with this,” she spit back, not entirely believing her own words, “not only do you not have _any_ proof of that, but I _guarantee you_ that Eddie agrees with me.”

“Oh, so is that why he got up and _left_ during the middle of it?” Alfie questioned sarcastically.

“GUYS!” Fabian shouted, cutting them off, “Look, I think you’re all right: something’s wrong with Eddie, and we need to figure out what. But, we need to do so CALMLY, and without yelling at each other,” he finished.

Patricia shrugged, growing more and more concerned with each passing second. Eddie wasn’t _really_ upset about what happened at dinner last night, was he? 

“I don’t know what to do,” KT started, her voice sounding even more distressed, “I have no idea where he would have gone, or what we should do.”

“Should we go to Mr. Sweet? I mean, if he isn’t with him, or if he hasn’t seen him, I feel like that’s a good indicator of how worried we should be—- especially with no mystery going on,” Alfie suggested.

“I think that’s a great idea,” Fabian replied, “let’s head over to Sweet’s office, and find out if he’s seen him or not. If he has, then we don’t worry. If he hasn’t, then we take it from there.”

KT, Alfie, and Patricia nodded in agreement. Then, without saying another word, they left for the school.

* * *

Eddie stumbled into the school, feeling like an absolute zombie. He was mentally exhausted from the panic attacks and thought spirals, as well as physically fatigued from the lack of sleep; it was truly a miracle that he hadn’t passed out during his walk back from the woods.

As was promised the day prior, there were numerous unfamiliar adults mingling in the hallways— counselors, Eddie assumed— waiting for people to talk to them about George’s death. Although Eddie knew that each of these individuals was a highly qualified, trained professional, he still wanted to speak with someone he at least vaguely knew: Mrs. Cohen, the school guidance counselor. He trudged toward the administrative offices, where her personal office was located, feeling more life drain from him with each passing step. After what felt like a marathon, Eddie finally reached his destination. He leaned against the door, pushing it open with his torso. Then, he was chirpily greeted by Matilda, the student receptionist from Mut House, who worked at the front desk that blocked the various offices behind it; however, her kind demeanor instantly shifted to one of immense concern as soon as she noticed Eddie’s disheveled appearance.

“Um, I was hoping I could talk to Mrs. Cohen,” Eddie mumbled.

Matilda nodded slowly. “Y-yeah, that should be okay. You can have a seat over there in the lobby, and I’ll let her know you’re here,” she told him as nonchalantly as possible, whilst she typed something into the computer before her.

Eddie nodded, and then sat down in one of the wooden chairs that occupied the small lobby. After a few brief moments, Mrs. Cohen stepped out from her office that was adjacent to him, smiling fondly.

“Hi Eddie, come on in,” she said eagerly as she gestured toward her open office door.

Eddie reciprocated a small smile as he stood from the chair, slinging his satchel over his shoulder in the process. He then plodded into the room, making his way toward her medium-sized, black, leather, couch intended for students. As soon as she shut the door, and he sat on the couch, he erupted into absolute hysteria again.

Mrs. Cohen’s smile turned into a pressed frown as soon as he started sobbing. Having limited one-on-one experiences with Eddie in the past, she wasn’t entirely sure how to react, especially since she didn’t think he was friends with George Philips; so, she simply approached him cautiously, and sat down beside him.

“Shh, it’s alright love,” she told him as she lightly rubbed soothing circles on his back, “it’s alright. This is a tough time for everybody, but we’re all going to get through it together.”

“No,” Eddie suddenly blurted, surprising both the guidance counselor and himself, “no, no, y-you don’t get-t it,” he stammered, “I…I…before I came to school here, I tried to do what he did, and this is really _really_ hard for me,” he explained breathlessly, “and I can’t deal with this because my girlfriend will be ashamed of me and my friends will hate me and then I’ll be alone again and I’ve already tried smoking and burning myself but now I just feel awful and dirty and am wondering if I would be better off dead again and I’m just so disgusted with myself—”

“Okay, Eddie, I need you to slow down and breathe,” Mrs. Cohen told him gently. She hadn’t picked up _everything_ he’d spewed at her, but she did catch his mentioning of suicidal ideations, as well as the prospect that he may have already done something to harm himself.

Eddie shook his head emphatically. “I can’t,” he told her, “I can’t I can’t I can’t…”

“Eddie, listen to me,” she told him kindly yet assertively, “you’re obviously in a very bad mental state right now, and we need to work on calming you down. Since you’re this distressed, and you’ve mentioned harming yourself, it is standard procedure for me to phone a parent or legal guardian, so I need to call your dad, okay?”

At first, Eddie _dreaded_ the idea of his dad seeing him like this; however, he also knew that he was the only person in the entire school who knew about his past, which made him genuinely want Mrs. Cohen to phone him.

“I want my dad,” he croaked through tears and short, raspy breaths, “I want my dad,” he repeated.

“Okay, I’ll ring him now,” Mrs. Cohen replied as she stood from beside him, and walked to the cordless phone resting on her desk. She pressed a few buttons on it, and then held it up to her ear. Fortunately, Mr. Sweet answered relatively quickly.

“Hi Eric, it’s Victoria,” she started, “listen, I have Eddie in here with me, and it seems that he’s having a severe panic attack. Could you get here as promptly as possible?”

Eddie couldn’t hear what his dad said in response, but he assumed from how Mrs. Cohen thanked him, that he was on his way.

He curled into the corner of the couch closest to the office door, pulling his knees up to his chest, and turning his head to cry into one of the plush, black, velvet, couch pillows.

Mrs. Cohen returned to her spot beside him, and lightly rubbed his arm.

“Shh Eddie, it’s alright. Listen love, I know you’re upset right now, but you mentioned something about burning— did you hurt yourself? If so, could you please show me where?”

Eddie shook his head emphatically, not wanting _anyone_ to see what he’d done to himself. He felt like an idiot for blurting that out to her.

“Alright then,” she continued, “you mentioned that you were thinking about how you might be better off dead— were you _planning_ on harming yourself?”

Eddie nodded into the pillow as he continued to cry and wheeze, his anxious thoughts starting to devour him once again.

“Alright,” she responded concernedly, “did you have a specific plan for how you were going to do so?”

Eddie shook his head, which caused a wave of nausea to wash over him as he continued to weep. Mrs. Cohen was about to ask him another question, when suddenly, Mr. Sweet came barreling through her office door, looking immensely panicked. 

When he saw the state Eddie was in, his fear was replaced with absolute shock, as he had _never_ seen him act in this manner before; however, he was painfully aware of his past, so he supposed that he shouldn’t have been _too_ startled. Although uncertain of what _exactly_ he should do, he instinctively hurried to the couch, sat down beside Eddie, and lightly pulled him into his arms. Amazingly, Eddie not only allowed this, but also buried his face into the crook of his neck, and curled up against his chest as he continued to sob. While Mr. Sweet was truly touched by the notion that his relationship with his son had evolved to the point where he felt comfortable enough to cling to him as he was, he wished with everything he had that it was under better circumstances.

He rested his chin on top of Eddie’s head, and lightly rocked him as he continued to bawl.

“Shh, Eddie, it’s alright. I’m right here…just try to take some deep breaths, okay?” he told him, glancing at Mrs. Cohen in deep concern.

“He mentioned something about burning,” she told Mr. Sweet from her new seat on the footrest before them, “as well as how everyone was ashamed of him, and that he thought he might be better off dead. He was speaking so fast when he first came in I admittedly didn’t catch all of it.”

Mr. Sweet felt his stomach drop at the mention of the word _burning_. Eddie’s mother had told him once that when Eddie was at his most depressed, he would sometimes burn himself as a way to cope…he hadn’t done that again, had he?

He continued to gently rock Eddie in his arms, and whisper calming reassurances to him, for he wanted him to feel as relaxed as possible before he and Mrs. Cohen investigated whether or not he had injured himself. They began by trying to get Eddie to breathe with them for several minutes, but he was simply too wrapped up in whatever anguish he was in to cooperate.

Eventually, Mr. Sweet worked up the courage to ask him the question he didn’t think he wanted to hear the response to:

“Eddie,” he started, “did you…did you hurt yourself?” he asked gently.

Eddie didn’t respond. He simply nuzzled his face deeper into his Dad’s neck, and continued to cry against his blazer. Mr. Sweet and Mrs. Cohen took that as a yes.

“Where has he done it in the past?” she asked him.

“His arms, I believe.”

She nodded, and then crouched down in front of the distressed father and son.

“Eddie,” she started, “your Dad and I need to know if you’ve harmed yourself so we can figure out how to properly help you. Do you think you can roll up your sleeves for us?”

Eddie violently shook his head, as the thought of exposing his arms to them drastically increased his feelings of nausea and anxiety. He tightened his grip on his Dad, hoping that would somehow deter them from trying to examine him. 

Mr. Sweet sighed.“Eddie, you’re not convincing me that you haven’t injured yourself,” he told him gently, “so we can either do this the easy way, where you roll up your sleeves for us, or we can do it the hard way, where we do it for you,” Mr. Sweet threatened as kindly as possible.

Eddie failed to respond. He simply continued to sob against his Dad, his panic attack worsening with each passing second.

“If it’s alright with you, I can do it,” Mrs. Cohen whispered to Mr. Sweet.

Sighing sadly, he nodded, granting her permission. Although she suspected that Eddie wasn’t going to start working with them anytime soon, she tried speaking to him one last time.

“Eddie, this is your last chance,” she began, “roll up your sleeves, or I’m going to do it for you.”

As predicted, Eddie did not reply. Frowning, Mr. Sweet nodded to the counselor. Nodding in response, she gently took one of Eddie’s arms into her hands, which he weakly tried to fight. Once she and Mr. Sweet stabilized his arm, she carefully rolled the sleeves of his sweater and button-down up to his forearm; the sight that was exposed upon doing so was one that Mr. Sweet nor Mrs. Cohen would _ever_ forget.

Numerous circular welts of various sizes lined Eddie’s forearm, and from what she could tell, continued up the length of his arm. Mrs. Cohen also noticed that the burns were still warm to the touch, indicating that they had been created recently. Unfortunately, she also knew that such burns wouldn’t have been purposely inflicted upon oneself if they weren’t in severe, emotional, distress; that being said, she knew what advice to give Mr. Sweet:

“Eric, you need to take him to the emergency room.”

Mr. Sweet wanted to throw up; and, had he not been holding his hysterical son in his arms, he may have. While he had never been present when Eddie had harmed himself in the past, the burns that lined his arms were truly appalling to observe. Not only did they look exceptionally painful, but the fact that his son had put them there _on purpose_ was what really rattled him; thus, he agreed that Eddie needed immediate help.

“Should I drive him or call an ambulance?” he asked quietly.

“It would probably be better to drive him, simply because an ambulance might attract some unwanted attention from the students,” Mrs. Cohen replied, “I can help you get him to your car if you’d like.”

Eddie seemed to have completely zoned out at that point. He continued to sob, tremble, and take ragged, uneven breaths from his father’s arms, but his lack of verbal response and voluntary movements made it abundantly clear to both adults that Eddie’s head was somewhere else, and that he wasn’t entirely aware of everything that was occurring. Mr. Sweet looked down at him and sighed.

“Alright, let’s do that then,” he began, “after we leave, would you mind just telling Victor that there was an incident and we needed to go to the hospital? Give him as little information as possible— I don’t want to bring anyone else’s attention to this until we know exactly what’s going on.”

“Of course,” she replied as she leaned in closer to Eddie’s face again.

“Eddie, sweetheart, do you think you can walk to your Dad’s car?” she asked him gently.

As both adults had mentally predicted, Eddie did not respond.

“Listen to me Edison,” Mr. Sweet began, “I need to take you to the hospital so we can help you feel better, and I don’t want to call an ambulance if I don’t have to. Do you think if Mrs. Cohen and I help you, that you could walk to the car?” he finished as he absentmindedly stroked his hair.

The adults waited patiently for a moment, hoping that their gentle tones had managed to get through to Eddie; however, they were disappointed once again.

“I can grab a wheelchair from the infirmary,” Mrs. Cohen suggested.

Mr. Sweet nodded in approval. She then stood up, and left to go find a wheel chair. Once she was gone, Mr. Sweet tightened his grip on his only child, and lovingly kissed the top of his head.

“Everything’s going to be alright, Eddie,” he whispered into his ear, “we’re going to doeverything we can to help you, and I’ll be right there with you every step of the way, I promise. I love you so, so, _so_ much.” 

While Eddie’s ears had picked up on the affectionate words spoken by his father, his brain failed to process them, for he was stuck in an infinite spiral of thoughts of how no one was going to want him once they learned the truth about him, how he should just kill himself now and get it over with, and then, how cowardly those thoughts made him feel. The spiral had become so intensely consuming that he had essentially blacked out; he could no longer process the sights before him, or hear his Dad’s soothing whispers. He felt blank; he was no longer able to utilize any of his senses, which made him feel as though he was floating through a timeless, empty void, comprised of nothing but the thoughts that he couldn’t get out of his head.

The infirmary was in close enough proximity to the guidance office that Mrs. Cohen returned in under a minute. She wheeled the chair in front of the couch, so they could easily slide Eddie into it.

“Eddie, I have to let go of you now,” Mr. Sweet informed him as he scooted him toward the edge of the couch, “but it’s just so we can get you to the car, okay?”

Both adults were contemplating giving up on trying to communicate with Eddie, for he genuinely didn’t seem to be processing anything they were telling him. Mr. Sweet sighed, and looked at the counselor, waiting for her to help him move Eddie.

“On three,” Mrs. Cohen started, “one, two, three.”

They carefully slid Eddie from the couch, and into the wheel chair. Much to both adults’ dismay, Eddie didn’t seem to be aware of his change in location; nevertheless, Mr. Sweet held his hand as Mrs. Cohen started wheeling him out of the office, in attempt to assure him that he was right by his side.

“Are you parked in your usual spot?” she asked him as she pushed Eddie through the main guidance office, toward the back exit that was reserved just for the school’s administrative staff.

Mr. Sweet nodded.

When they approached the door, Mr. Sweet managed to open it with his free hand, allowing Mrs. Cohen to seamlessly push Eddie through the threshold, and guide him toward Mr. Sweet’s silver Volkswagen. When they approached it, Mr. Sweet opened the passenger door, and together, he and Mrs. Cohen lifted Eddie from the wheelchair to the passenger seat. Mr. Sweet then buckled his seatbelt for him, and shut the door.

“Please keep me updated me on his condition,” Mrs. Cohen told him as she backed the wheelchair away from the car.

Mr. Sweet smiled at her sadly. “Of course. Thank you so much for all of your help.”

“Anytime, Eric.”

Then, without another word, she turned and walked back inside with the wheelchair. Mr. Sweet then slid into the driver’s seat, and started the ignition.

Despite having moved from the guidance office to the car, the glazed look in Eddie’s eyes hadn’t dissipated. Sighing sadly, he reached over, and pressed a light kiss to Eddie’s cheek.

“Everything’s going to be okay, Eddie,” Mr. Sweet told him again as he started backing out of his parking spot, “we’re going to get everything figured out, I promise.”

* * *

The four Sibunas hurried toward Mr. Sweet’s office, panicked, as they still hadn’t heard anything from Eddie. It was Fabian who rapidly pounded his fist against the door.

“Mr. Sweet, are you in there? We really need to talk to you,” he shouted over the commotion of the noisy hallway.

Much to their collective disappointment, there was no response. Not wanting to go another moment without knowing of her boyfriend’s whereabouts, Patricia stepped beside Fabian, and tried to open the door; and, to all of their surprises, it opened.

“It’s unlocked.” Alfie stated in confusion.

The four of them filed into the office, looking around for any evidence of a recent visit from Eddie. After a few moments, they realized there was nothing.

“Well that was a bust,” KT said in disappointment.

“Listen,” Fabian started, “if Sweet’s gone, then there’s probably a chance that he’s with Eddie. I say we go to first period, check back after to see if he’s returned, and then go from there.”

Everyone agreed, and then made their way toward their first period class, hoping to any God that was watching over them that Eddie would be there.

Their stomachs dropped when they entered the classroom, and saw all of their other classmates in their seats, except for Eddie. They didn’t have time to exchange words before the teacher came in and asked everyone to sit down, but they could tell from the looks on each others faces that everyone had become even more worried.

It wasn’t until that moment when Patricia truly started to wonder if Eddie’s disappearance was her fault: she hadn’t seen him since the argument at dinner, he didn’t kiss her goodnight yesterday, he wasn’t answering his phone, Sweet was absent from his office, and now he wasn’t in first period? She hoped with everything she had that wherever he was, he was safe, and that whatever his reason for vanishing out of thin air was, it wouldn’t be a pill too difficult for her to swallow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand that’s all for now! Thank you guys so much for reading! There will either be one or two additional chapters, followed by a brief epilogue, to this story; either way, it is still far from over. As you could probably tell from this installment, I like to write relatively long chapters, so unfortunately, it will probably be a while before the next part will be up (roughly the same amount of time that has elapsed between now and the date the first chapter was posted), especially since I will be focusing my energy on the next chapter of PTAD for the time being! Anyway, thank you all so much again for taking the time to read this— I greatly appreciate it! Don’t forget to leave your kudos and comments below— there isn’t much I love more than reading what you guys think about my fics! Stay safe and healthy out there! Bye for now!  
> \-- Taylor


	3. Eddie?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter in which no one, not even Eddie himself, knows what the hell is going on with Eddie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody!  
> First and foremost, I am so so so so sooooooooooo sorry for going so long without posting! I never imagined there would be this much of a gap between updates, otherwise I would have warned you all first.  
> In the months that I’ve been away, a lot has happened: my Dad got into a severe accident at his work and was hospitalized for awhile, and then once the stress from that situation was over, my Grandma was hospitalized about a month after that, also for an accidental injury. Fortunately, both are okay now, but between all of that, I’ve had to balance school, work, and of course, keep up with COVID-19 protocols to keep myself and my family safe from this damn virus. However, despite all of this, I have been slowly working on this story, as well as PTAD, in any spare moment I’ve had. My hope is that once this semester ends, I’ll have more time to write, but I will be going away for Christmas Vacation this year, so my time in front of my computer may still be limited. The point I’m trying to make is, even when I’m at my busiest, I am always still thinking about this fandom and these stories. This fandom means more to me than I could ever possibly put into words, and your continued support and kindness of me and my stories truly means the absolute world to me. I cannot thank you enough for your patience over the past few months, and your support for sticking with me— again, your loyalty means more to me than I could ever possibly describe!  
> And now, without further ado, here is the next installment of Reasons— I hope you enjoy it! I will admit, it is a bit anti-climatic, but the events that occur in this chapter are absolutely essential to laying the framework for the chapters to come. As always, I encourage you to leave kudos and comments once you finish reading, as any feedback is always helpful to me as a writer, and makes me more excited and motivated to work on these stories. As always, I will list the trigger warning for this particular chapter below, but other than that, I will shut up and let you guys read this! I hope you enjoy it! :-)
> 
> Trigger Warning: Discussions of self-harm by burning, suicide, mental health stigmatization, being hospitalized/sedated, psychiatric/psychological evaluations, etc.

Eddie felt nothing. There was no other way to describe it: he felt absolutely _nothing._

He did not feel any pain. Or anxiety. Or despair. Or fear. Or nausea. Or dizziness. He felt as though he was merely existing in a timeless, spaceless void, completely unfazed and unaware of his surroundings and actions.

The contrast between Eddie’s reality and the real world was sharper than the finest knife money could buy. Physically, he was conscious, but cognitively, he was mute. He was blank. He was nowhere. He was _nothing._

Meanwhile, Mr. Sweet _did_ feel the various sensations Eddie should have been experiencing: immense anxiety, despair, fear, nausea, and dizziness. He could not recall a time in his life where he had been more frightened than he had been during the entire time the emergency room staff rushed out to his car, loaded Eddie on to a stretcher, and brought him into the hospital, whilst he continued to uncontrollably shake and wail. Given that Mr. Sweet had been possessed by an actual demon less than a month ago, one would think that his current level of fear wouldn’t even be a fraction as intense now as it was then; however, they would be incorrect, because Mr. Sweet was absolutely, painstakingly, wholeheartedly, _terrified_ of what he was presently witnessing. 

He watched in genuine horror as a group of nurses transferred Eddie from the stretcher to a hospital bed, cut him out of his school uniform, and forced him into a paper thin hospital gown, all while Eddie continued to thrash and scream. Despite Eddie’s hysteria, the nurses were still able to hook him up to various machines and obtain a blood sample from him— to say that Mr. Sweet was thoroughly impressed by their efforts would be a massive understatement. 

While Mr. Sweet was extremely fearful of Eddie’s condition, the feeling that bothered him the most was the overwhelming helplessness he felt as he stood behind the nurses who were working tirelessly to aid his son. He was a teacher— a science teacher, nonetheless; therefore, he was supposed to have the answers to everything, and truly, _truly_ despised feeling so hopelessly out of touch with _anything_ , let alone something that directly pertained to the health and wellbeing of his child.

The nurses tried to calm Eddie for what felt like hours to Mr. Sweet, but was actually forty-five minutes, before one of them turned to him and sighed.

“I don’t think we’re going to be able to get him out of this without some assistance,” she told him bluntly, “if it’s alright with you, we’d like to call in the anesthesiologist and sedate him.” 

Mr. Sweet’s heart sank at the suggestion. _Is he really so far gone that he needs to be sedated?_ he wondered to himself. He sighed sadly.

“If you think that’s absolutely necessary, then yes, of course,” he told her.

She pursed her lips in a tight line and nodded, before leaving the room.

Unsurprisingly, Eddie remained completely unfazed by the remaining nurses’ attempts to soothe him. Mr. Sweet hesitantly moved to the lefthand side of Eddie’s bed, sat in the wooden chair that was there, and tried— _again_ — to get through to him. He gently placed his surprisingly firm, steady hands over Eddie’s shaky, trembling ones, and comfortingly ran his thumbs alongside the backs of Eddie’s palms.

“Shh, Eddie, it’s alright. Everything’s going to be just fine. You’re safe. I’m right here. Everything’s going to be okay. Shhh, just try to relax.”

Much to his dismay— _again_ —Mr. Sweet’s words elicited no response from his hysterical son. He searched for any sign that Eddie might have _at least_ comprehended his words, but based on the crazed, wild animal-like daze still present on his face, Mr. Sweet knew that Eddie’s mind was somewhere else entirely. Regardless, he kept his son’s hands tightly clasped in his own until the anesthesiologist arrived, and politely asked him to step away from the bed.

The doctor described the sedative he was administering to Eddie, how it would make him sleep for awhile, and then had Mr. Sweet sign a consent to treatment form, but he was mentally incapable of paying attention to what he was saying; he simply could not tear his attention away from Eddie’s incessant shaking, sobbing, and wheezing. He watched in complete awe as the nurses managed to hold Eddie’s right arm in place for long enough to allow the anesthesiologist to inject the sedative into him, before letting it drop to continue trembling again. As the doctor stepped away from Eddie, he noted the deeply concerned expression on Mr. Sweet’s face and sighed.

“He’ll be completely out in roughly ten minutes,” he told him reassuringly, “and I promise you, he will be much more calm when he wakes up after that.”

Mr. Sweet nodded silently, and continued to watch Eddie flail and sob in the bed. He then moved back to where he had been standing a few minutes prior, and took his hands into his again.

“Shhh Eddie, it’s alright,” he tried. Nothing.

As the minutes ticked by, and Mr. Sweet continued to hold Eddie’s hands in his, he noticed that his shakes were occurring less frequently, and that his breathing was beginning to even out. After a few more minutes, he had stopped shaking entirely, and his tears had slowed tremendously.

Mr. Sweet let go of one of Eddie’s hands, and moved it up to his forehead, so he could gently push some of his hair away from his damp eyes. As he did so, Eddie briefly looked over at him. Before Mr. Sweet could say anything to him, his eyes fluttered shut. He sighed, and continued to soothingly rub his thumb over the back of Eddie’s hand, as well as whisper reassurances to him, just in case he could still hear him. Had it not been for their current setting, the red blotches scattered across Eddie’s face, and the dried tears underneath his eyes, Mr. Sweet would have thought that he was sleeping naturally, without the assistance of a sedative. He sighed sadly, and leaned over his unconscious son to press a soft kiss to his forehead. He then returned to his seat, and continued to rub his thumb alongside Eddie’s hand. He remained there, absentmindedly holding his hand, and watching him sleep peacefully, for awhile, as he collected his thoughts.

Now that Eddie was at ease, Mr. Sweet’s thoughts of immense worry for his son were beginning to subside, only to be replaced by a fresh new batch of thoughts, all of which centered around the same theme:

_What the fuck led to this?_

* * *

Mrs. Cohen collapsed into the plush office chair at her desk. She glanced at the time on her computer; it was only 8:30 in the morning and she was already exhausted. She sighed, and reached across her desk to depress the pump of the bottle containing her favorite cherry-scented lotion. While she thoroughly rubbed the creamy liquid into her hands, she couldn’t help but reflect on the past hour’s events.

She felt truly terrible for both Eddie and Eric. Clearly, Eddie was suffering from severe mental health issues, and needed more help than she could provide as a school guidance counselor. She sincerely hoped that he would be able to receive all the care he needed once he arrived at the local hospital. She also hoped that Eric would have access to some form of support as well, because she knew that seeing his son in so much anguish had caught him extremely off guard, and that being by his side while he undergoes the appropriate psychiatric treatment will be challenging for him as a parent, too.

Having sufficiently rubbed the lotion into her skin, Mrs. Cohen logged on to her computer to see who her next appointment was with; much to her surprise, it was another resident of Anubis House: Willow Jenks. She quickly skimmed the information Matilda had entered about the reason for Willow’s visit, and then went to go fetch her from the lobby.

As soon as she pushed her office door open, Mrs. Cohen instantly saw Willow sitting in the same chair Eddie had been waiting in earlier. She smiled at Willow as she stood from the chair, while slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“Hi Willow, come on in,” she said as cheerfully as possible.

Willow smiled at her in response as she followed her into her office. Just as she had done with Eddie, Mrs. Cohen shut the door behind them, and sat in the black leather chair opposite of the couch designated for students. Willow sat in the center of the couch, and dropped her bag down at her feet.

_Well, at least she’s not having a nervous breakdown_ , Mrs. Cohen thought to herself.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” Willow started, a hint of sadness present in her voice, “I know you probably have a lot of people to see today.”

“Of course, love,” Mrs. Cohen replied warmly, “so tell me, what brings you in?”

Willow sighed, and looked down at her feet. Mrs. Cohen noted that she had begun to absentmindedly bounce her right leg up and down in nervousness. After a brief moment, she looked back up and sighed heavily.

“Well, it’s sort of about George,” Willow began, “he was really good friends with my old roommate from Isis House, Laura Ferguson, so I was kind of friends with him too,” she explained, beginning to tear up a bit, “and obviously, his passing has made me feel really sad, but…well, I don’t mean to sound like a tattle-tale, but…um…it’s just that…some of the people I live with now in Anubis House, um…they don’t exactly feel bad for him, and it makes me feel even more upset than I already am, and I don’t really know what to do about it.”

Mrs. Cohen furrowed her brow in confusion. “What do you mean?” she asked curiously.

Willow shrugged. “Last night at dinner, Laura texted me saying that she had learned that George had committed suicide, so since we were all sitting together, I told everyone that was how he died…pretty much everyone was sympathetic, except for Jerome and Patricia…they didn’t exactly have very nice things to say about him.”

Mrs. Cohen couldn’t help but tense at the mention of Patricia. She was well aware that Patricia and Eddie had been dating on-and-off over the past year and a half, and couldn’t help but wonder if what Willow was saying had contributed to his panic attack.

“What kind of things did they say?” she inquired.

Willow sighed, wiping a tear from her eye, “they…they were _really_ horrible,” she murmured sadly, “Patricia started it, and said all these things about how George was a coward, and how mental illnesses aren’t real illnesses, and that someone should have just told him to man up. Jerome wasn’t as bad, but he did join in with her, saying the same things.”

Mrs. Cohen’s stomach dropped. _Fuck_ , she thought to herself, _no wonder Eddie was upset_.

“That is horrible,” she told Willow, trying her best to maintain her composure “you said this happened last night at supper— did anyone else chime in, or was it just Patricia and Jerome?”

“It was just Patricia and Jerome,” Willow answered tearfully, “thankfully, everyone else didn’t agree with them. Joy is still so upset about it that she’s not speaking to either of them. Mara and Fabian kind of tried to argue with them for a bit, too…I was so shocked and upset by it that I got to a point where I had to leave the room, so I don’t really know what happened after that.”

Mrs. Cohen nodded, and tried to figure out a way to indirectly ask if she noticed Eddie’s reactions at all during the event. 

“Did anyone go after you when you left?” she asked.

Willow nodded. “Yeah, my boyfriend Alfie did. He was disgusted by it too. I probably sobbed into his shoulder for half an hour before Laura invited me over for a bit.”

Mrs. Cohen needed more information to report back to Mr. Sweet, so she decided to ask a few more questions before she offered some advice to Willow.

“How long did you stay at Isis House for?”

“A few hours. I left at 9:45 so I could be back in time for Victor’s pin drop at 10:00. I was actually almost late getting back, so much so that I didn’t even get a chance to say goodnight to Alfie,” Willow answered honestly. 

“I see,” Mrs. Cohen replied, “What was the mood like when you returned?”

“Better than it had been when I left,” Willow told her, “but I did only see my roommates when I got back. Joy was ranting about how angry she was at Patricia and Jerome, and then told KT and I that she refused to speak to either of them until they took back everything that they said earlier. Then, KT started telling us about how she, Fabian, and Alfie were starting to feel worried about Eddie, because apparently he left during dinner too, and they hadn’t seen him since. KT was so concerned about him that she couldn’t fall asleep until Fabian texted her that Eddie made it back to their room safely…so there was a lot more support when I returned, but the tension was still there.”

_Bingo_ , Mrs. Cohen thought. Without sounding too obvious that she was more interested in Eddie’s whereabouts than Willow’s feelings, she pressed on.

“Did she say where Eddie had gone? she asked.  
Willow shrugged. “Um, I think she said that he was with Mr. Sweet, but they weren’t entirely sure.”

Based on the past hour’s events, Mrs. Cohen felt certain that Eddie had not been with Mr. Sweet.

“Noted,” Mrs. Cohen replied, “I was just wondering if maybe he’d left because he felt the same way you did.”

Willow shrugged her shoulders. “I honestly don’t know,” she started, “but apparently he did leave again this morning, without telling anyone where he was going, because everyone seemed mostly worried about that at breakfast. Alfie even tried to tell Patricia that maybe he left because she’d made him feel uncomfortable last night, but she refused to believe that.”

Mrs. Cohen nodded. “Did anyone else agree with Alfie?”

“I think everyone did,” Willow answered, “but Patricia’s kind of scary, so no one really said anything about it. But I could tell it was something everyone was wondering.”

Mrs. Cohen nodded, and then confirmed that Patricia and Jerome’s attitudes were inappropriate given the severity of the situation, as well as offered Willow some advice on how to cope with their negative attitudes. She also encouraged her to share the tips with anyone else within the house who may also need it. After ensuring Willow talked about everything she had wanted to discuss, she walked her back to the office door, and wished her a good day— all things considering. As soon as Willow left the office, Mrs. Cohen shut her door, and quickly returned to her desk. She hurriedly picked up her cell phone, and scrolled down to find Mr. Sweet’s personal mobile number. She clicked on the number eagerly, held the phone up to her ear, and waited for him to pick up.

“Hello?” he answered after two rings, sounding immensely defeated.

“Hey Eric, it’s me,” she began, “listen, I just had Willow Jenks come in here and, well, I think I may have just learned some information that will be very useful to you.”

* * *

Patricia had completely zoned out.

The teachers weren’t teaching any course materials for the remainder of the week, as to let the student body grieve for George, yet Patricia _still_ couldn’t focus on the lecture involving brain teasers and riddles that had replaced her normal History class— she was too worried about Eddie. 

Until this morning, Patricia didn’t believe that she had said anything more offensive than what was usual for her at dinner the previous night; and, she had genuinely believed that her friends were just giving her a hard time like they normally did when she acted a bit rudely. However, those dismissive feelings vanished as soon as she realized that she hadn’t seen Eddie since her rant. 

She thought she knew him better than he knew himself; if he had some sort of complicated relationship with suicide, she would have known about it, right? She tried to reason that if he did happen to know someone who had struggled with depression or committed suicide, that person was insignificant enough for him to never mention it to her. She tried with all of her might to convince herself of that logic, but it still didn’t explain his sudden absence, or why he had been avoiding her since supper; no matter how she packaged it, she simply could not formulate an explanation for Eddie’s sudden disappearance. He was truly the strongest person she knew, which made her believe that whatever Eddie’s relationship to suicide was, it didn’t directly involve him— it just couldn’t. He was tougher than that, as she had seen several weeks ago when he had saved the world— _again_.

As she thought about the previous weeks’ events, an even more nerve-wracking thought entered her mind: what if Eddie was in trouble? What if he had been kidnapped by some new, unknown enemy? What if Sweet needed him for something with the society, and that was why they both had vanished into thin air? Maybe the whole George thing was a distraction so they could swoop in and steal Eddie away? Perhaps Victor remained at the house to cover for them, so she and the others wouldn’t dwell on Mr. Sweet and Eddie leaving together so suddenly?

The more she thought about it, the quicker she convinced herself of that theory: Eddie’s disappearance wasn’t suicide or George related at all, but _Osirian_ related. With that realization in mind, she craned her neck to the right toward the table Fabian and KT were sitting at, which was in front of the one being shared by Alfie and Willow. She subtly tried to get their attention, but they seemed oddly invested in the lecture before them.

After a painfully large chunk of time passed, the class was finally over. Patricia quickly dumped her books in her bag, rose from her seat, and went over to where the rest of Sibuna were packing up their respective bags. None of them spoke a word to each other until all of their classmates had left, and Patricia decided to share her theory with them.

“Listen, I was just thinking,” she began, “what if…what if Sweet took Eddie for something Osirian related? Maybe his leaving isn’t related to George at all, and they’re just using his death as a distraction to whisk Eddie away for some secret evil plot? Maybe George’s death isn’t real it all, maybe it’s all a hoax—”

“Patricia,” Fabian interrupted, “let’s just stop by Sweet’s office again to see if we can find anything before we start jumping to conclusions, okay?”

Patricia glanced at Alfie and KT, who both looked agitated by her accusations. She shrugged, and folded her arms across her chest. _This better not be like Joy all over again_ , she thought to herself.

“Fine,” she muttered, “let’s go.”

Wordlessly, they left the room, and made their way toward Mr. Sweet’s office. When they arrived and saw the same, barren office, Patricia felt her stomach drop: something was off, she could feel it.

“Maybe…they went into town to get breakfast somewhere?” KT suggested hesitantly.

Patricia scoffed in annoyance, “oh please, it’s obvious what’s going on here,” she began, whilst quickly scanning the hallway to ensure no one could hear them, “Sweet’s taken him for something! Eddie’s probably in danger, and we need to find out where he is and how to save him!”

Patricia was prepared for the three of her friends to jump right on board with her theory, but they just stared at her blankly.

“Hello,” she snapped at them, “what part of ‘Eddie’s in trouble’ do you not understand?”

The three of them exchanged worried glances, before Fabian spoke up.

“Look, I’m not ruling it out entirely,” he started, “but…it just seems awfully soon…after everything that just happened, for them to suddenly swoop in and take him.”

“Yeah, I mean, have we ever had more than one life threatening quest within the span of one school year before?” Alfie questioned.

Patricia shook her head at them in disbelief, “Are you kidding me,” she spit, “do you honestly believe that anything that’s ever happened to us has been timed? That’s the dumbest thing I think I’ve ever heard you suggest, Alfie.”

She hadn’t meant to sound that aggressive toward him, but based on Alfie’s pained facial expression, her words had clearly wounded him.

KT scoffed in disbelief. “And you think it’s crazy to rule out that he might have left because of your hate speech last night,” she hissed.

“What the hell are you implying with that,” Patricia snapped as she took a step closer to KT’s face, becoming more irritated with each passing second. _They should know by now that when someone around here suddenly goes missing, it’s usually worth investigating,_ she thought to herself.

KT scoffed. “I’m not implying anything, I’m just stating the fact— _again_ —that he left last night _exactly_ as you started in on your little tangent, and given that we haven’t seen him since then, I don’t think it’s entirely coincidental.”

“So what, do you think that I drove him to kill himself or something, like George did?” Patricia retorted.

“I hope to god not, but _clearly_ he was upset with everything you were saying—”

“That’s not true.”

“It is very true, you just can’t admit it!”

“Alright, enough,” Fabian yelled, stepping in between them, “listen, I don’t think we should jump to any conclusions until we at least hear word about Sweet or Eddie. Wherever they are, they haven’t been gone for long, and I highly doubt that after everything we’ve been through he’d just up and decide to kill himself, so I don’t think we should worry just yet,” he finished.

Patricia huffed in annoyance, backing away from Fabian and KT. “Well then at what point _do you_ suggest we start to worry? Because I can’t help but feel a bit panicked.”

Fabian sighed. “If we haven’t heard from him or Sweet by this evening, then I think we should go to Trudy or Victor…I’m…I honestly don’t know what we should do, other than wait for one or both of them to turn up.”

“I think that’s smart,” KT replied quietly.

Patricia scoffed. “Just one more question, then,” she started, “if you don’t think he’s been kidnapped or is in some other kind of trouble, where do you think he is, exactly?

Fabian sighed. “I…I don’t know…I really don’t,” he told her honestly.

“We did just see him last night,” Alfie added, “so…I really do think he’s with his dad, doing…I don’t know what, I just…I find it hard to believe that he’s in trouble.”

The bell rang, preventing any of them from saying anything else. Patricia sighed in irritation.

“Fine, we’ll give it some more time,” she huffed, “but if it ends up being that I was right all along, I don’t want to hear it from any of you,” she finished before she stormed away from them, toward her next class.

The three remaining Sibunas stood in their spots dumbfounded, unsure what to think.

“Well, should we just go to class then?” Alfie asked.

KT sighed, feeling defeated. “I guess,” she replied as the three of them started walking.

They walked together in silence. They didn’t need to speak, because they knew that they were all dwelling on the same topic: Eddie.

* * *

“You’re kidding,” Mr. Sweet replied in astonishment, as Mrs. Cohen finished telling him the gut wrenching things Willow had told her Patricia said at supper the previous night. He was so taken aback by how cruel her words were that he had to lean up against the wall, outside of Eddie’s room.

“I wish I was,” she replied on the other end of the phone, “I’m so sorry, Eric.”

Mr. Sweet knew that Patricia wasn’t exactly the friendliest person ever— he knew that. But to sit at the dinner table, in front of her peers, and _slander_ someone who had just committed _suicide_? That was low, even for her. Had it not been for the fact that he’d just dragged his hysterical son— her boyfriend— to the hospital, shaking, crying, trembling, and ultimately unresponsive as result of some unknown trauma, he wouldn’t have believed it; it was without question that what she had said triggered Eddie’s panic attack.

“Well, thank you for informing me,” he replied sadly, “I think that will be helpful to us.”

“Of course,” she replied, “let me know if you need anything else.”

After thanking her once more, Mr. Sweet ended the call. He sighed sadly, and then reentered Eddie’s room. He returned to the chair he had been sitting in beside Eddie’s bed, and then laced his fingers through Eddie’s once again. He sat there absentmindedly rubbing his thumb along the back of Eddie’s hand for several moments, completely shocked by the information he was just given. 

_Damn her_ , he thought to himself, _God damn her, how dare she—_

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Mr. Sweet peered over his shoulder to see an unfamiliar woman in a white lab coat standing behind the door, through its window.

Mr. Sweet forced a small, polite smile on his face, and used his free hand to gesture for her to enter the room.

“Well, I see the anesthetic worked it’s magic on him,” she replied as she advanced into the room, toward Mr. Sweet. He nodded sadly. 

“Yeah, I guess it did.”

The doctor then extended her hand out to Mr. Sweet. “I’m Dr. Hastings, one of the ER Physicians on call today,” she started, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, albeit the circumstances.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Mr. Sweet replied as he shook her hand.

Dr. Hastings smiled at him fondly, and then withdrew her hand from his, dropping it into the pocket of her lab coat.

“Well, the nurses filled me in on Eddie’s symptoms, and I first and foremost want to assure you that I know seeing him in that state was anything but easy— I promise you, he will _not_ be like that when he wakes up,” she told him.

Mr. Sweet nodded appreciatively. “That’s very comforting to hear. Speaking of which, do you know when that might be?” he asked.

She shrugged. “The anesthesiologist had to give him a pretty strong dose of the sedative, so I would estimate about 9-12 hours, give or take.” 

Mr. Sweet’s eyes widened in response to her statement. “He could be out like this for up to _twelve hours_?” he asked in surprise, his heart sinking at the prospect.

Dr. Hastings nodded sadly. “Unfortunately, yes, which leads me to what I need to tell you next. Since the dosage of the anesthetic was so strong, I would really like to keep him overnight, just to observe him and ensure he doesn’t have any unfavorable reactions to it. It’s unlikely that would be the case, especially since he’s young and physically healthy, but it is something we would like to do simply as a precaution.”

The idea of admitting his son into the hospital made Mr. Sweet feel sick to his stomach; but, he found himself nodding regardless.

“Additionally,” Dr. Hastings continued, “since you listed that your primary reason for bringing him here was because of psychological issues, we cannot let him leave until he’s been thoroughly evaluated by both a Psychiatrist and Clinical Psychologist. Since we’re going to admit him anyway because of the anesthetic, we can do that anytime after he wakes up and is ready to do so.”

“How long do you think all of that will take?” Mr. Sweet asked, feeling increasingly nauseated by all of this information.

“Well, the Clinical Psychologist will talk to him first, and ask a bunch of questions to fully evaluate the status of his mental health, which will probably take about an hour and a half,” Dr. Hastings answered honestly, “Then, the Psychiatrist will ask some more medically-relevant questions to determine if he needs any medications, which usually takes less than an hour. Then, they’ll compare their notes and provide suggestions for what types of therapy he may need going forward.”

“What about his burns?” Mr. Sweet asked abruptly, surprising himself slightly. 

“That is actually my job to address,” Dr. Hastings responded, “since he’s asleep, now would probably be the best time to examine them.”

Mr. Sweet nodded in agreement, and watched anxiously as the doctor silently approached the counter in the corner of the room, adjacent from Eddie’s bed, pulled a pair of lavender, latex-free gloves from one of its drawers, slid them over her hands, and then walked to the side of Eddie’s bed, opposite from him.

“Alright, let’s have a look here,” she murmured to herself as she gently lifted Eddie’s left arm, and carefully examined the welts lining it. Mr. Sweet watched in utter despair as her eyes jumped from burn to burn, and as she gently pressed her thumb alongside the more severe looking ones. 

“Hmm,” she murmured softly, “given how circular these are, it appears that he may have made these with cigarettes. Do you know if he smokes?”

Mr. Sweet’s heart sank to depths of his chest that he never knew existed.

“Um,” he started nervously, fighting back the tears that were threatening to spill from his eyes, “he…he’s dealt with various addictions in the past, and um, I believe smoking was one of them…I…I mean after everything that’s happened this morning, I honestly don’t know at this point, but I don’t think he does currently.”

Dr. Hastings nodded in understanding. “Very well,” she replied, as she continued to observe Eddie’s arm, “I’ll make a note of that, so the psychologists can ask about it later when they evaluate him.”

Mr. Sweet tensed in his seat, as he did everything in his power to keep from bursting into tears. As far as he knew, Eddie hadn’t touched any drugs or alcohol since his trip to rehab— he wouldn’t have relapsed now, right? He shuddered at the thought, and hoped with all his heart that his episode wasn’t linked too closely to substance abuse.

“Do you mind if I switch to your side?” Dr. Hastings asked, breaking him from his thoughts.

“Oh, yes, of course,” he replied, quickly standing from his spot beside Eddie.

Dr. Hastings then repeated the same motions on Eddie’s right arm, and when she was finished, gently placed his arm back down beside him, and gestured for Mr. Sweet to reclaim his previous seat.

“Luckily, the majority of them look to be relatively minor, first and second degree burns,” she said as she removed her gloves and tossed them in the waste basket beside the counter, “however, there are a few of them that may be teetering toward third degree burns, which are more likely to become infected,” she continued as she folded her arms across her chest, facing Mr. Sweet once again, “I’ll go ahead and prescribe him a lotion antibiotic to hopefully prevent that, as well as something to reduce the pain and itching they’ll surely cause. I’m also going to put in a request for a burn specialist to come examine him once he’s admitted, since a few of them do look to be more serious than some of the others do.”

Mr. Sweet felt like he was going to be ill. “Do you think that’s really necessary?” he questioned in astonishment, “I mean, that makes it sound like they’re extremely serious.”

Dr. Hastings sighed. “Well, since they’re self-inflicted, the psychiatrist would likely recommend a burn consult as well, because the level of intensity of the burns is often an indicator of someone’s mental health status. It’s standard procedure in cases like these, I’m afraid,” she explained.

Mr. Sweet nodded, but didn’t like how many people would be treating his son today: two separate mental health practitioners, a burn specialist, an anesthesiologist, and Dr. Hastings. Standard procedure or not, that many health care professionals visiting Eddie made Mr. Sweet feel extremely uneasy.

“Do you have any additional questions for me?” Dr. Hastings asked.

“Yes,” Mr. Sweet replied, “is this all going to be able to be done in one night? I mean, if he sleeps for 12 hours, that has him waking up around 10:00 or 11:00 PM— will there be people to see him that late? I just don’t want him to have to stay here any longer than one night,” Mr. Sweet explained, hoping to any God that was listening that the answer would be yes.

“That’s completely understandable,” Dr. Hastings responded, “we are fortunate enough to have a each of the providers Eddie needs on call 24/7, so as long as he’s awake and willing, we can have any of them examine him at any time.”

“Excellent, thank you,” Mr. Sweet replied, feeling slightly relieved.

The doctor then reviewed the various lotions she was calling in for Eddie with Mr. Sweet, and informed him that a nurse would be in shortly to apply the first doses of them to his arms. Then, she said that a patient transport team would be in shortly after that to get Eddie moved from the emergency room to the section of the hospital reserved for general, admitted patients. After ensuring Mr. Sweet understood what was going to happen next, and had no further questions, she left the room.

Mr. Sweet turned back to his sleeping son and sighed. He reached over and gently ran his fingers through his hair, and then pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.

“It’ll be alright, Eddie,” Mr. Sweet whispered, more to reassure himself than his unconscious son, “everything’s going to be okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading! I’m sorry if that last part was a little dry— it’s based off of things that I saw when I shadowed an ER doctor a few years ago when I was interested in going to medical school, so I wouldn’t have felt that I was doing this scene justice if I didn’t make it as similar to my experience as possible— the next chapter will be more exciting, I promise! Regardless, don’t forget to leave kudos and comments on this chapter! Thanks so much!  
> All my love,  
> Taylor <3


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